


The Hetalia Games

by RedPen77



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aged-Down Character(s), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Dystopian, Hope you're ready for this, Lot's of character death, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-01-05 17:53:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18371111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPen77/pseuds/RedPen77
Summary: It's the 75th annual Hunger Games for the districts, and each one must send their tributes to a bloodbath where they fight it out to the death. There is only one rule: kill or be killed. Winning will make you famous. Losing means certain death. For some, they have trained their whole lives for this. For others, it will be a hard fight. Yet despite these conditions, unlikely friendships are formed. Romances bloom. The truth about the Capital is unveiled. But who will the odds favour the most?





	1. District One: Arlovska and Bonnefoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the reaping, and Natalya can't help but think how barbaric the Hunger Games seem.

Natalya always rose early. It was something of an inconvenience to not have to that morning.

Of course, nobody had to be up until noon that day at the very least. Then they would pull on their best and finest clothes, adjust their hair, and make their way down to the square for two o’clock, and the festivities that would follow. At least two families would celebrate the hardest, for the honour of having their children picked for the Games. Natalya knew if she was picked there would be precious little celebrating. Her mother had died a little over two years ago, and with her, any connection to social events. Her once loyal friends, instead of helping her through the pain and the grief, slipped away and found people to replace her. And she had no other family members, least to her knowledge. There would be no one to celebrate.

Natalya lay for a while in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. It would be hours yet before she had to get up and she took that time to reflect for a second. When you lived in an overcrowded community home flooded with screaming children, it became difficult to even hear yourself think at times. Technically she was far too old to live at this community home -- usually they didn’t take anyone over ten -- but there had been no other place for her to go, and thus she was shunted here. There were perks. Most kids here had to share bedrooms and clothes. She was the oldest, the carers knowing she needed her space at this age in her teenage life, especially in one that had lost her mother, and for the most part was left alone, unless she was being called upon to have dinner or help with one of the chores, or help out with the children. Sixteen. This year, her name would go into the reaping ball four times. 

There had been excitement all month for this moment. Natalya had seen it at her school. The lessons were more lax as even the teachers couldn’t help but become excited. The Headmaster preached frequently about what an honour it would be if any of his students were picked, which was unlikely. Natalya personally thought the Hunger Games barbaric. A cruel way to remind everyone how under the thumb they were to the Capital. It annoyed and angered her, but of course, she couldn’t do anything about it. She was just one girl and most folk here loved the Capital. Still, she would rather be living here, in relatively comfortable housing, where tributes from her district won often, than in a district like twelve, having soot blackened hands and backbreaking work.

Yes, Natalya had learnt pretty early on how to keep her mouth shut. Oh, the things she used to blurt out as a child. She never lightened her words either, even at her age now, preferring to be much more direct and save any hassle. She talked often about how the Hunger Games were unfair and unjust, giving people like them an unfair advantage while those in the poorer districts starved in the streets. She quickly learnt this was not widely accepted. She quickly learnt to shut her mouth.

Morning sunshine was just beginning to stream in through the curtains on the window. Natalya sat up against her pillow, stretching her back out and shaking back her silvery hair. It had tangled itself into a wild mess during the night. Usually she kept it up in a ponytail for school, but there was no school today, so she hadn’t bothered. Everything was shut for the grand event about to occur. She had lay for a very long time, several hours or so at the least, so she could hear the patter of little feet on the landing, the talk of the excited young ones and the occasional word of one of the carers. Natalya had only just stood up out of bed, when her door opened. 

“Natalya? Oh, good, you’re up.” It was one of the more kindly carers here, though Natalya still couldn’t give a damn about her. She’d grown used to not giving a damn about anyone, actually. “If you could, I’d like you to help me get the kids ready today. Get them washed and changed for the reaping -- um. When you’re decent, that is.”

Natalya looked down. She realised her nightdress -- which had been an old one of the kids -- barely covered her. Not that she cared very much. Modesty was not much of a thing here. She gazed back at her intruder.

“I will.”

The carer nodded, turning a little pink, and left the room again swiftly, leaving Natalya to it. She brushed out her knotted hair, and changed into her community home uniform. A white blouse, dark grey skirt that hung to her calves, and grey tights. Not very flattering, but there was no point in looking nice just yet. The reaping wasn’t until two.

She had a long morning ahead of her.

__________________________________

“Sister Nattie, Sister Nattie!” One of the little boys -- Peter, his name was -- clamoured. Natalya had just finished giving him his bath, and not only were her arms now soaked, but a good portion of her body was too after Peter decided to have a splash fight with another boy called Marcello. Like everything else here, most kids shared baths. They were only six, however, and perfectly fine with sharing baths and living quarters and clothes. Not that they had much say in the matter. 

“Sister Nattie!” Peter called again, tugging on her skirt. Natalya turned to face the half-naked six-year-old, with a sigh. He grinned back up at her, oblivious. “Pick me up, Sister Nattie!”

“No thank you,” she replied. Natalya wasn’t fond of the idea of picking up a sopping wet, half-naked child to her bosem and pretending like he could fly. “Ask one of the matrons.”

Peter pouted. “But I want you to do it!”

“Put some clothes on first.”

“But I’m all wet!”

“Then dry off.” Natalya picked up one of the towels hanging off the rack and rubbed at his hair gently, but vigorously. Peter giggled at the sensation, and when she stopped and he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he gave a shriek of annoying laughter. His hair was sticking up at all odd angles.

“Look at my hair! My hair!” He kept yelling, nearly slipping on the wet bathroom floor. Natalya grabbed him just in time and smoothed his hair flat again to save her eardrums.

“There,” she said, “all better.” Natalya proceeded to wrap a towel tight around him, making the boy decent, and lead him back over to his bedroom. He shared with Marcello -- who was also in a towel, sitting on his bed, his ginger hair lying flat against his head from wetness. 

“Sister Nattie,” he said, the moment she came in with Peter (whose towel was falling down around him). “Will I be picked for the reaping?”

“How old are you?” She replied, sitting Peter down next to him.

“Seven. Seven and a half!”

“Then no.” The moment she turned her back she could hear Peter get back up, as she got out clothes for them both. Their best clothes; a blue and white sailor suit for Peter, complete with a matching cap, and a green button down for Marcello. “Peter, sit back down, you need to get changed.”

“I can’t!” He yelled, gleefully. “I’m too hyper!”

“Well stop it,” she grabbed his tiny wrist and lead him forcefully back to the bed. “You two won’t be chosen anyway. You can only be chosen if you’re between twelve and nineteen.”

“That’s a silly rule!” Peter protested, trying to wrench his arm away from her. “I don’t like it!”

“Well, those are the rules.”

There was quiet for a moment as Natalya wrestled Peter into his clothes and hat. Then, Marcello spoke.

“But, these Hunger Games are gonna be different this year! They’re changing the rules, aren’t they?”

“No, they’re bending them,” Natalya said, through gritted teeth. “It’s allowed.”

“Why?”

“Because this year is a Quarter Quell.”

The Quarter Quell happened every twenty-five years. The first Quarter Quell, marking twenty-five years of the Hunger Games, the Districts had to choose the children that went into the area. The second, twice as many tributes were chosen. This was the seventy-fifth Hunger Games. A Quarter Quell. Natalya had to wonder what the Capital had cooked up for them. 

Once the boys were changed and ready, and Peter had calmed down somewhat, the same carer as before came into the room. She smiled at the boys, bouncing a baby girl against her hip, then looked straight at Natalya.

“I think you’re all done for today,” she told her. “Why don’t you get yourself ready? I’ve run you a bath.”

“Thank you,” Natalya said, politely. There was more gratitude in her words than she expressed. Peter was a pain and Marcello wasn’t much better. 

The bathroom was soaking wet from the many pairs of children that had had to be dunked under. It wasn’t very clean now either, plus all the shampoo and conditioner bottles were knocked over everywhere. Natalya stripped and sunk into the bath. She sunk so low her ears were under, blocking out the sounds of the community home effectively.

Right now, it was just her. 

Of course, she couldn’t take a very long bath. The water was lukewarm at best. Once washed and ready, she stepped out the bath, and wrapped a towel around herself to preserve modesty, took her clothes, and headed upstairs, back to her room, to make herself presentable. It was there she found a surprise.

Natalya had been planning one wearing a clean white blouse, and borrow one of the female carers sky blue skirts. But here, laid out on her bed, was her mother’s best. It was a dark blue dress, with several ruffled layers underneath the skirts, a clean white apron, and a thick black and white ribbon to tie around the waist. A plain black, ribbon tie was to be worn around the collar, as well as plain black tights. There were even black gloves to complete the look. It reminded her so strongly of her mother just then, that her heart gave a soft pang, and her hand reached up to clutch the towel around her chest.

Who laid out the dress? Certainly not herself. This dress had lived in the back of her wardrobe ever since she had possession of it. But here it was freshly laundered and soft. Natalya gently picked up the fabric, and ran her thumb over it. If she pictured hard, she could still remember the smell of her mother in the fabric.

Natalya changed ever so carefully, as if the dress would rip at the slightest of tugs. She brushed her hair -- one hundred strokes -- and adjusted the ribbon tie around her neck. Peering at herself in the mirror now, was a completely different girl. She still had a solemn face and a slight body. But looking back at her was a girl that was beautiful.

Beautiful. Hm. Natalya had never seen herself as beautiful before. This was further reinforced in her mind when she walked down the stairs. The children stared at her, already lined up by the door. 

“Sister Nattie!” Peter exclaimed. “You look pretty!”

“Thank you Peter,” she replied, still as solemn as ever. 

The carer that had knocked on her door that morning -- the carer that had run her a bath -- hurried down the line of children all in procession. She turned rather pink in the face when she saw Natalya.

“Natalya -- you’re down. That’s good,” she said, then looked at the children. “Are we all ready? We’re going to the town square. Are we ready to support sister Natalya?”

“Yes miss!” The children chorused back, excitedly.

“Good! Let’s go then.”

The walk wasn’t a very long one, and they all made it to the square. Natalya was separated from the others, as she was made to sign in, and then get roped off into the girls sixteen year-olds pen. It was already tightly packed, and Natalya struggled to make room for herself amongst the others. The air was that of excitement, which was stagnant around the square. Families waved at their children in their pens. Cameramen were perched like buzzards on rooftops, and screens had been put up along with the banners, so that the whole of District One could see their chosen new victors. 

Natalya directed her attention towards the stage, which had been set up just in front of the Justice Building. There, sat their Mayor, their Capital escort, and their previous victors, all exchanging gleeful glances. Nataya didn’t like those looks. 

Then, just ten minutes before the clock struck two, the mayor stepped up on stage. The babble of the crowds died down. 

“Welcome!” He boomed. “To the seventy fifth annual Hunger Games!”

The air suddenly thickens with excitement and tension. Natalya kept her body relaxed, staring impassively at the Mayor. He begins to read off a card on the podium. He read of the history of Panem, the country that rose up out of what was once known as North America. He lists the disasters, and the war that eventually brought them their shining new country, with thirteen districts that brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then he read of the Dark Days, the uprisings against the Capital. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave new laws to ensure peace, and to remind the Districts that the Dark Days must never be repeated, the Hunger Games were born.

The rules were simple. Each district must select two tributes -- a girl and a boy -- to compete in the Games. The twenty-four tributes would be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena, where in turn they must fight to the death for the whole country to watch. The last tribute standing wins.

“However,” the Mayor continued, now nervously looking at the clock for time. It was almost two o’clock. “When the rules for the Games were first laid out, it was decided that every twenty-five years, the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell. A Quarter Quell would call for a slightly differed version of the Games, to make fresh the memory of those killed in rebellion.” The Mayor glanced at the time again. It was a minute to two. “We shall now wait for the reading of the card.”

With that, silence swept over the square. No one dared speak. They all shuffled from foot to foot excitedly. Then, the screens in the square, which had previously been showing a shot of the mayor at the podium, flickered and changed as the clock struck exactly two. Now, it showed their President walking onstage at the Capital, as the anthem played in the background. Behind him followed a boy carrying a wooden box. The anthem ends, and the President launched into another speech about the birth of the Hunger Games all over again, going further into detail about the Quarter Quell. Nataya was barely listening. 

“On the twenty-fifth anniversary,” he was saying. “As a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote for their tributes. On the fiftieth anniversary--” he then continued. “--as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capital citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes. And now we honour our third Quarter Quell!”

The boy with the box stepped forwards, opening the box for him. Inside were rows and rows of yellowing paper, for more Quarter Quells. The President picks up one clearly marked with a 75, and begins to read. 

“For the seventy-fifth Hunger Games,” he said, “as a reminder of the men and the woman that gave into violence, the boy and girl tributes shall be reaped together.”

A gasp rippled throughout the crowds. Natalya took a moment to absorb that information. Boy and girl tributes shall be reaped together. Meaning two boys or two girls from a district could go into the area. Meaning that she had double the chances of getting picked for the Games.

The anthem began to play again, as the President walked back off the stage, little boy in tow. Then the screen switched back to the Mayor. He cleared his throat.

“It is now time for the reaping. If you please…?” 

The district one escort bounced to the front of the stage, just as the two seperate glass reaping balls of paper were being filtered into one. 

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!” She trilled, then bounced over the the glass ball. The escort dug her hand deep into the ball, and then managed to snag a bit of paper. Natalya watched with bated breath as she held it up, and read it aloud. 

“Francis Bonnefoy!”

She let out a sigh of relief as other let out ones of disappointment. It wasn’t her. She was safe.

Francis Bonnefoy appeared to be a man only a year older than her, with long blond hair falling about his face. He carried with him an air of superiority as he walked, with a smug smirk on his face. Clearly he was one of those that had trained for this position. Or at the very least was one arrogant enough to think he would win. Natalya had to doubt that. The man was slight and pretty, delicate. He’d shatter like glass in the arena.

“Let’s give him a big round of applause, shall we?” The escort cried, and there was a smattering of loud applause in return. Several girls wolf-whistled, while some of the boys jeered jealousy. But there was still another chance to be picked. “Now, for our next tribute!”

The escort dug around in the ball again. This time she barely scraped the surface of the slips of paper inside the ball, quickly bringing it up to eye level. The air grew tense again.

“Natalya Arlovskaya!”

Shock. That was the first thing she felt. It ran throughout her entire body, freezing her muscles, causing her to become as still as a statue. The girls next to her parted ways, and Natalya realised that was her cue to go up. With tremendous effort, she took a step forwards. Then another, headed towards the podium. 

Four slips! That’s all she had in there! Just four slips of paper! But it hadn’t mattered. She’d been chosen anyway. And now she was going to be sent to a bloodbath of almost certain death. Natalya stepped up to the podium, next to the Francis boy. She could feel the eyes of all of the District on her. 

The escort asks for volunteers but Natalya already knew there would be none. She’d severed connections with everyone. Even here, in district one, where the Games were celebrated and it was considered an honour to fight for your district, hardly anyone volunteered. The mayor began reading the long, dull, Treaty of Treason, but Natalya was hardly listening. The shock was still working its way throughout her body. She didn’t cry -- Natalya prided herself on never crying -- but she could feel her heart sink into her shoes. There would be no winning these Games. She had no survival skills, no weapons training. She didn’t have a sunny personality, or a brutal one, so no one would sponsor her. All she had going for her was that she was from a rich district. 

It was almost certain death.

The Mayor finished the long Treaty of Treason, and then ordered them to shake hands. Natalya took Francis’ delicate hand in hers and shook it carefully. Their eyes met. His were astoundingly blue, leering, but innocent. 

Do you know, she thought. Do you know you’re about to die?

They turned back to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem played. All she could feel inside her was a hollow emptiness that threatened to swallow her whole. She was in no danger of crying, since she knew that she would appear weak like that. The train she was to be taken to the Capital on would be crawling with camera crews. 

Natalya found herself being escorted into the Justice Building when the anthem was over, and taken to a seperate room. Here, they were supposed to say goodbye to their families and loved ones. But she had no friends, no family, and no loved ones. There was no one to come for her, Natalya was sure of it. So her visitor came as a surprise.

It was one of her carers. The one that had awoken her, the one that had run her a bath. She was still pink in the face, and smiling. There were no children with her. Natalya was half grateful. 

“A tribute, eh?” She asked, when she came in. “You’ll do our district proud!”

Natalya could only look at her. “... Thank you. I will try.”

“You… erm. You think you’re going to win?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh -- don’t say that!”

“I don’t have any survival skills,” Natalya told her. “And I don’t think anyone would sponsor me. It’s likely I’ll be dead at the Cornucopia.” 

“People will sponsor you,” the carer said, trying to be consoling. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’re not arrogant. You’re direct. You’ve got spirit. Play it up at the right angle and lots will be willing to sponsor you.” She put a hand on Natalya’s shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged. You’ve as much chance of winning this as any of the others.”

Natalya doubted that very much.

“Did you… erm… see the dress I laid out for you?” The carer asked, turning pink again. “I knew it was your mother’s. I thought it would be nice, you know? For… special occasions.”

She looked at the carer for a moment. “That was you?”

“Yes. I… washed it in the week following. I thought you might like it?”

Natalya opened her mouth to speak, but just then, a Peacekeeper came in. 

“You have two minutes,” he told them. The carer nodded.

“Right -- I came in here to give you this, actually.” She took a piece of ribbon from her pocket. “For your hair, to keep it tied back for the Games. It’s… a bit of the district to remember by. Here, I -- I’ll tie it in now.”

Natalya turned, as the carer fiddled around, trying it into her hair in a bow. She didn’t have a mirror -- but the tightness of the ribbon grounded her somehow. 

“Thank you,” she nodded. “I… I’ll wear it in the arena.”

The carer smiled. “Thank you.”

Then, she was being taken away by the Peacekeepers. Natalya watched her go, and had to wonder at her random acts of kindness. The poor, shy, kind carer, of which she never bothered to know her name. 

She had no more visitors after that, and was escorted out with the boy Francis into a car around the back of the Justice Building. Natalya had been in cars several times before, but none as grand as this. The speed made her head press back against the seat, as they headed towards the train station. 

Leaving behind her district, Natalya could only think that maybe she would now be reunited with her mother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for reading my newest work! This is going to be a little different from my regular ones, as instead of focusing on one or two characters, I'm going to be focusing on all the characters in the Games, but don't worry, they will all link up. I don't have a set publishing schedule, the chapters will be uploaded as I go. 
> 
> For those of you that missed it as they aren't usual characters:
> 
> Peter — Sealand  
> Marcello — Seborga  
> Kindly carer — Monaco (kind of)
> 
> Any kudos, comments, or constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated, thank you again for reading, and hopefully I'll see you in the next chapter!


	2. District 2: Beilschmidt and Jones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig considered it his duty to volunteer for the Games. For the family honour.

“I volunteer as tribute!”

This came as no surprise to district two. Ludwig Beilschmidt had been trained for years in an academy for the Hunger Games, he was bound to volunteer. Ludwig, even now, could feel resentful stares on his back of jealous boys, and infatuated girls. He never understood why girls were so infatuated. As far as flirting, or even basic conversation went, he was duller than a brick wall. 

Ludwig stepped up to the podium with the previous boy who had volunteered, a fellow boy in the academy, Alfred F. Jones. They were something of rivals, top students constantly trying to outdo each other. At least, that’s what it felt like. Ludwig never really tried to best Alfred in anything, he only did what he was told as often as he was told to do it by the instructors, and got better and better and better. Alfred got better too -- but this was out of competitive spirit.

He was escorted to the Justice Building behind him, and there was taken into a seperate room, where families were supposed to say goodbye. In just a few minutes of waiting, the door was flung open again by his brother.

“Lud!” Gilbert yelled noisily. “You volunteered! Knew ya would!”

“Let’s not lose our heads, shall we?” Said another voice from the door, as the familiar face of his Grandfather stepped in. He was the one that had signed he and Gilbert up for the Academy. Actually, he was a previous victor of district two himself. “We’re all very proud of you Ludwig. I know you’ll win.”

“Of course he’ll win!” Gilbert said, folding his arms. “He was top in training!”

“So is Alfred,” Ludwig replied, quietly. “He’s been training as long as me.”

“All ya gotta do is take him out!”

Ludwig gave a non-committal shrug. His Grandfather stepped forwards, and put his hands on his shoulders. “I know you’ll bring honour to our family, Ludwig. I’ve been hoping you would be in the arena for years.”

“Yeah!” Gilbert said, but with now with a little less enthusiasm. “For the family!”

Ludwig knew why he was less enthusiastic. He saw the slightly resentful look Gilbert gave his Grandfather. Ludwig couldn’t really blame him. They had never really forgiven each other since Gilbert’s reaping.

“My necklace,” he said, untying it from around his neck. His Grandfather then placed it into his hands. “I give this to you. Wear it as a symbol of strength and courage.”

He nodded in return. “Thank you.”

The necklace was that of a small, iron cross. He knew his Grandfather had another, but it was locked in a cupboard somewhere. It was supposed to be Gilbert’s. But he never got the chance to give it to him. Ludwig tied it around his neck now, and it bumped awkwardly against the collar of his shirt. But his Grandfather gave an approving nod. 

“Now you are ready.”

Gilbert gave a snort of disdain, enough to make his Grandfather round on him angrily.

“Something to say, Gilbert?”

“No,” he replied, sulkily. “Nothing at all, Vati.”

Ludwig looked between the two of them and sighed. They were always at odds with each other. Gilbert, noticing this, crossed over and slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Oh come on! You know I’m happy for you. Do the family proud, eh?” He asked, looking at Ludwig. Was it possible? But did he see a twinge of jealousy in his eye?

Well of course he had. Ludwig would feel the same in Gilbert’s position. But then, at that moment, a Peacekeeper came in.

“Time’s up. I have to escort all family members out,” he said, firmly. Gilbert gave him an affectionate cuff on the arm. 

“Go on, Lud. I know you can do it.”

“You’ll do us proud,” his Grandfather added, though as a previous victor he would be coming with Ludwig to the Capital, to mentor them. Then, they were escorted out, and Ludwig was left staring at the doors where they left. The moment the doors swung closed he could hear immediate bickering. 

Ludwig was lead out the back of the room again, to the car waiting for them. Alfred was there too. On seeing him, he gave a smirk-like grin and a wave.

“Hey! So I guess we’re at odds, huh? Cool, right?” His smile stretched. “Now I guess we’ll know which one of us is finally better than the other!”

“I guess,” Ludwig sighed, climbing into the car. He felt exhausted. He always did after talking with his brother and Grandfather.

“Didja meet your family just now? Was that them on the way out?” Alfred again, asked, climbing in next to him. “They were arguing.”

“I know.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“Oh, family stuff,” Ludwig wished he would stop pestering him with questions. 

“Ah, I get it,” Alfred nodded, even though he clearly could not. Their family situation was unique only to them. Ludwig vaguely recalled Alfred having a brother, but he didn’t do, or even say anything much. It came as a surprise to most that Alfred even had a brother, whereas everyone knew Ludwig’s family scandal.

The car ride was a short journey to the train station, where there were cameras everywhere. Ludwig could immediately see Alfred grinning goofily and flexing his muscles, but he himself didn’t bother. In fact he caught his face on one of the screens. He appeared to look almost angry, walking stiff with a frown on his face. Ludwig tried to relax his muscles but this only worsened his expression.

It wasn’t just he, Alfred, and the cameras on the platform, however. His Grandfather soon joined them, as he was to be one of the mentors, and their district two escort. His Grandfather looked a little red in the face and angry, no doubt arguing with Gilbert. Gilbert was to be left alone while they went to the Capital. Ludwig could only imagine his jealousy. He could also only imagine the state of the house when they got back. Gilbert would undoubtedly get drunk and make a mess. Probably get into trouble. Wouldn’t be the first time.

They had to stand for a while at the platform so that the cameras could eat up every inch of their appearances. The moment they got onto the train the doors shut tight, and the train immediately began moving. It was one of the Capital, high-speed trains too, one of those that clocked in at 250 miles per hour. It would take a night’s journey at most to get there, and then get settled in the Capital building reserved for the tributes each year. Before they would be flung into the arena.

The train was even nicer than their own home in the Victor’s Row. The district two escort assured them both that everything was at their disposal. There were bedroom chambers, a dressing area, a shower room, a fancy dining carriage. Alfred immediately asked if there was anywhere he could train -- but he told him that it would have to wait for the Capital.

As soon as he could, Ludwig slipped away into his carriage, and took a nice, hot shower. He knew he ought not to, but he felt exhausted. It took a while to adjust to the settings on the shower, before he stripped and stepped into the warm rain. Here, he finally got a good look at the cross.

It was made of iron, obviously, black, but with a white edge. It was thick and heavy for a necklace too, weighted to carry. Ludwig thought it would be more of a hindrance than a help in the arena. Still, he ought to do his family proud and wear it. If not for his own sake then Gilbert’s, who clearly felt a little put out by his own not being awarded to him. Even if it wasn’t technically his fault, their Grandfather clearly blamed him. Which wasn’t fair at all, really.

Ludwig stepped out of the shower again and went to find some clean clothes. Eventually he settled on plain black trousers, and a green shirt. He felt much more comfortable in this, rather than his stiff dress shirt and tie. It almost felt a relief to take it off again. 

Tomorrow morning, he would enter the Capital. There he would be put into the hands of the stylists, who would make him up and beautify him for the Opening Ceremony, as they entered the City Circle. Then he would train. They had three days to train, the final day being that of the Interviews. And then… the Hunger Games would commence.

Ludwig almost just wanted to get it over with. He had a huge statistical advantage. It would be most likely he would win. But if he died, he would shame his family. He couldn’t let that happen. Not after Gilbert.

Ludwig was pulled out of his thoughts suddenly by a knocking on the door. It was his district two escort, rapping on the door to fetch him for dinner. He followed him through the narrow, rocking corridors to the dining carriage. Alfred was already there, along with his Grandfather, and a few other mentors. And, of course, the district two escort. Ludwig sat opposite Alfred, and the mentors immediately launched into tactics.

Where to go. What to train for. What not to train in. Allying with others. Ludwig tried his best to listen. It was clear Alfred was hooked on every word. 

“The food here,” one of the mentors was saying. “Is good. Rich. You want to load yourself up with carbs, since you’ll be running around full time out there. Meat is good too. Stay away from the deserts. There’ll be plenty of time for that when you’ve won.”

Alfred gave a winning grin. “Carbs. Got it. Anything else?”

“The career pack,” another added. “You two will likely be a part of them. But it’s dangerous. At one point you’re going to have to kill off your team, remember that. You two have been trained, so you’ll likely be the one they turn on. Keep your guard raised. Betray them before they betray you.”

Ludwig hadn’t even thought that he’d be in the Career pack. The Career tributes tended to be those from one, two, four, and whoever else seemed strong enough to be a part of it. These were the tributes that almost always won. Another advantage to him. Ludwig couldn’t help but feel a little sorry from those in the other districts. He wasn’t arrogant, but Ludwig knew he or Alfred would most likely be the victors.

The desert came, and as promised, neither of them touched the enormous Victoria sponge cake brought through. Instead they got up, and made their way into the next carriage, where the recap of the reapings were played across Panem.

“This is a good chance to scope out for potential allies,” his Grandfather said. “Other than in training. Go with your gut feeling.”

Ludwig watched, but only a few people stuck in his mind. A quiet, solemn girl from District 1. A man with black curls and a huge smile on his face from 4. A huge, bulky looking man with a pink scarf from 12. And, Ludwig couldn’t quite place why this one stuck in his mind, a nervous, quivering boy from 3. He shook like a leaf up on stage, though he did his best to smile. He was small and slim. Clearly stood no chance in the Games. When asked for volunteers, there was no one to speak but the wind.

The programme ends, and the Capital anthem plays out again. 

“Time for rest, I think,” said one of the mentors, rising. “Tomorrow you two will be made up by your stylists for the Opening Ceremony. And you can’t look good with circles under your eyes.”

“Right.” Alfred stood, like a soldier at attention. “I’ll be heading off then.”

“So will I,” Ludwig added, quietly. The two of them left the mentors in the room, just as a tray of alcohol was wheeled in. He was half glad. Ludwig was never much one for drinking. 

They walked along in a stiff silence to their rooms. But just as Ludwig was about to open his door, Alfred spoke.

“You know, I’d advise you to stay away from the Career pack this year,” he said, suddenly. 

“... Why?” Ludwig asked. It wasn’t like he’d thought about it much anyway, but this took him by surprise. Alfred just gave a half grin. But there was something dangerous in that grin.

“Well, because those are the people I’ll be rounding up. And there ain’t enough room for the two of us. If you want allies, that’s fine. Just stay away from mine.”

With that, Alfred disappeared into his room, and left.

Now, Ludwig knew they’d never been on the best terms. They were always at odds with each other in training. But that just seemed… a little too aggressive. Well, they were trying to kill each other. 

The drawers were brimming over with night shirts, but Ludwig just lay in his shorts. The sun had long since been going down. Tomorrow, he would arrive at the Capital. He knew he should be thinking about his training, and what angle he should play in the interviews. But oddly, he wasn’t thinking forwards. He was thinking backwards, of home, and of his brother. What was he doing? Had he already been drinking? Or had he actually remained sensible enough so he could see him win the Games?

Ludwig sighed. The relationship between his brother and his grandfather never used to be so rocky. In fact, once upon a time, it had been as good as his. But at Ludwig’s first reaping, all of that changed. 

When they first joined up for the Academy, it was Gilbert who was deemed the successor to the family. He was supposed to be the next family victor. He’d been told over and over again how he’d bring honour and pride to the family again after his parent’s disappointment. They trained him hard and Gilbert shone. Ludwig remembered his brother bragging and swaggering about the house for weeks when he got to be top in training, beating out his rival for the top score. When he was nineteen, fully trained and raring to go, district two expected him to volunteer in for the Games. But he never got the chance.

Ludwig remembered that day. He’d been twelve, just starting out at the Academy. Nowhere near as good as his brother, or even what his brother was when he was twelve, but it was a start. It was his first reaping. He remembered the shock of it when none other than Gilbert’s name came out of the reaping ball. He couldn’t volunteer. But his Academy rival could. Gilbert was never quite the same after that, when his rival was deemed the victor of that years Games. 

The odds of his own name being picked out had been so slim. But it didn’t matter. Ludwig thought of his own odds in the Games. They were not slim, they were about as good as you could get, excepting Alfred’s. But of course, the odds were never that dependable in his family. Perhaps Alfred would manage to kill him. Or that nervous boy from 3 would be his undoing.

Ludwig never got to think further than that. The rocking of the train finally managed to soothe him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I didn't have a whole lot to add in this chapter other than set up a few pieces but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. 
> 
> In case you missed it:
> 
> Ludwig's Grandfather -- Germania 
> 
> Any kudos, comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, hopefully I'll see you in the next chapter.


	3. District 3: Vargas and Honda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feliciano is scared out of his mind for the Hunger Games. But the Opening Ceremony gives him a little hope.

Feliciano awoke again with tears streaming down his face. He gave a huge heaving sob, and tried to wipe at his eyes, but more tears just came to replace the last ones. His nose was also running, covering the duvet with snot. 

He’d already done a great deal of crying. He cried when he was being taken into the Justice Building by the big scary Peacekeepers. He cried when he had to say goodbye to his brother and his grandfather. He cried again in the train and then started crying halfway through dinner too, because the food tasted so good and he couldn’t share it with Lovino. Lovino would have loved the massive slices of tomatoes they were being served in the salad. 

Lovino was all the way back in District 3, safe at home. Feliciano already missed him terribly. His brother was a grump and a sourpuss but he cried too when he had to say goodbye. So did his grandfather. They all knew Feliciano wouldn’t make it home again.

Giving up on trying to wipe away his tears, Feliciano just lay back on his pillows and let the tears run down his face. His fellow tribute from district 3 hadn’t done any crying yet. He wondered how. His district partner was a short, quiet boy, with black hair and a deadpan expression, called Kiku Honda. This expression hadn’t been taken off his face since Feliciano first saw him. How could he do it? Wasn’t he scared? Feliciano was terrified. 

Eventually, and with some hiccuping, the tears abided, half soothed by the rocking of the train. But there was still a terrible ache inside of him. These soft clothes, nice food, and comfortable beds were nice, but they weren’t the homely things he was accustomed to. District 3 was one of those filled with poverty, and they had barely managed to afford a tiny apartment on the highest floor. His Grandfather worked in a big factory from five in the morning to five in the evening, and could barely afford to send them to school. Feliciano liked school. He had lots of friends, even if he wasn’t too great in lessons. Tears threatened to spill again as he thought of his friends. Feliciano got up and moved into the bathroom to distract himself. He almost had to laugh at the mess he looked in the mirror.

Thankfully, the tears washed off his face with the shower. Feliciano had never taken a shower before. It took a time to get used to the controls as he was first sprayed with boiling hot water, and then freezing cold. He was from the district of technology and he couldn’t even take a shower here. What hope did he have in the Hunger Games? 

No, don’t think about that, he told himself. Think about the lovely breakfast you’re going to have!

The supper served the night before had been the stuff of dreams. Hopefully breakfast would be the same. Encouraged by this, Feliciano towel-dried his hair, and changed into a simple shirt, trousers, and red jumper. Halfway through changing, his district 3 escort -- a blond, smiley man called Tino -- began rapping on his door to collect him. Feliciano liked Tino. When he began crying at dinner, he had given him a handkerchief and tried to comfort him.

“You’re up already?” Tino asked, when Feliciano opened the door to his rapping. “Wow, you district three people sure must love early starts, huh? Your fellow tribute was already awake too! Come on, it’s time for breakfast. You’re going to love what the chefs have put together.”

Yes, Feliciano liked Tino very much. It was comforting to be distracted by good food. Feliciano followed Tino into a train carriage with polished, panelled walls, and a table with a white tablecloth thrown over it, the plates and cutlery arranged very neatly. Two chairs were already taken; one was occupied with his fellow tribute Kiku, and the other his mentor.

The only surviving mentor district 3 had, was a man called Heracles. He was a quiet, kooky man. Currently he was asleep at the dining table, unperturbed by the rocking of the train. Feliciano slid into the seat next to Kiku, as Tino sat opposite. Almost the moment he did so he was presented with his breakfast; fried eggs, bacon, ham, sausages, a basket of fruit, a stack of pancakes drizzled with a honey coloured sauce, a rack of toast served with butter that had been carved into a delicate rose shape with a pair of pats. There was also a strange, black liquid given to him in a papery cup. Feliciano took a sip, and grimaced at the incredibly bitter taste. 

“Don’t like it? Maybe you’d prefer this,” Tino said, giving him another cup of brown stuff. He took a hesitant sip, expecting it to have the same bitter taste -- only to find it pleasantly sweet and creamy. “It’s called hot chocolate!”

Feliciano drained his cup and grinned. “I much prefer that over the icky black stuff!”

Heracles seemed to have awoken as well at the sight of food. He was clutching the cup of black stuff -- ‘black coffee’, Tino called it -- close to his chest and took slow sips of it. Kiku was also quiet, and barely ate anything. Feliciano had to frown at this.

“What’s the matter?” He asked him. “Don’t you like the food?”

“No, I do,” Kiku replied, in a quiet voice. “I just don’t have much of an appetite.”

Feliciano frowned further. He was scared too, but that never put him off his food. When he was absolutely stuffed to the brim so that he couldn’t hold any more, he sat back on his chair, sighing. Kiku was now picking at some toast, but then he looked up suddenly at Heracles.

“So, you’re our mentor, correct?” He asked, suddenly in a much more loud voice. Feliciano perked up interestedly. “Aren’t you supposed to give us advice?”

Heracles nodded, absentmindedly. “That’s right. I am.” 

Kiku looked at him expectantly. “Well, aren’t you going to?”

“I will,” Heracles nodded. “Yes.”

“Then, when we get to the Cornucopia, what’s the best strategy to--”

Heracles held up a hand, effectively silencing Kiku. “I work with one thing at a time,” he replied, quietly. “Right now, the main concern is the Opening Ceremony. You know what that is?”

“Oh!” Feliciano held up his hand, like he was in school. He knew the answer! “It’s when the tributes enter the City Circle all dressed up so the Capital people can see us and decide if they want to sponsor us!”

“Very good,” Heracles smiled. “Yes.”

“No,” Kiku replied, puzzled. “They decide whether they want to sponsor us when they’ve seen our training scores, and interviews. They won’t decide on appearance alone.”

“Most don’t,” Heracles agreed. “But a good majority do.”

“But,” and here, Feliciano could hear an irritation begin to creep into Kiku’s tone, “if ‘most don’t’ then why are we concerning ourselves with it? I think I would feel much better if--”

“You are eager, and I appreciate that,” Heracles interrupted again. “But please indulge me. I find I work one thing at a time. When we get to the Capital, you will be given to your stylists. They want to make you Capital-beautiful. Don’t resist what they do to you. Resisting them is like trying to resist a wave from crashing.”

Feliciano and Kiku exchanged bewildered glances.

“That is all.” He suddenly stood up. Heracles took a pear from the basket, and then left the train. They heard it shut behind him.

“Oh, Hera’s always been a bit of a weird one,” Tino laughed, awkwardly. “But he means well. And he does give good advice -- when he gives it.”

Suddenly Feliciano felt the train begin to slow, and jolted forwards a bit. He couldn’t help himself; Feliciano ran to the window to see what he’d only before seen on cameras, Kiku soon following.

The bright, dazzling lights of the city took his breath away. It was so grand, so glorious, so bright. Shiny cars roll down the twinkling streets, houses stood tall and gleaming, and the people, oh the people. Walking around in their odd clothing, hair done up in funky styles, lips painted, nails done, strutting around the streets. None of these people had ever missed a meal. If anything it almost seemed too bright. Artificial. Fake. 

These people begin to point and yell eagerly as they recognise the tribute train. Feliciano couldn’t help but wave back excitedly, and felt a thrill when these strange people began waving back. He caught Kiku looking at him oddly, and grinned.

“Won’t you wave too?” He asked. Kiku shook his head.

“These people will be betting on our lives thinking that this is okay. I don’t want to.”

Feliciano shrugged. He waved and waved until his arms hurt, and then thankfully the train rolled into the station, blocking them from view. Tino grabbed them both gently by the arm, and began to drag them away.

“Come on,” he said, smiling. “You’re going to love your stylists!”  
_________________________________________________________________________

Feliciano’s body felt raw, and was stinging and tingling all over. Mei, a Capitol woman dressed entirely in pink, with an enormous pink flower in her hair and pale pink lipstick to match, ripped off another bit of fabric from his leg, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Sorry, sorry! This is the last one, I swear!” She piped in the funny Capitol accent. She was a liar, because she quickly stuck another one on the back of his leg and then promptly tore it off again. 

“Ow, stop it!” Feliciano begged. “You’re hurting!”

“Oh, don’t be so silly,” scoffed Im Yong Soo, a man with bright red contact lenses and dyed golden streaks in his hair. “We’re barely touching you!”

“Once we’re done with your legs, it’ll be over,” Li Xiao Chun added. He took a step back, examining Feliciano’s naked body. Feliciano had never been self conscious before, but now he’d been told he was hairy, dirty, and a bit greasy, he was beginning to feel it. Ming ripped off another bit of fabric from his leg, causing him to yell out again. Feliciano hated this.

When Heracles told him not to resist the stylists, he had no idea what he meant by it. Now, after being rubbed down with a gritty foam that took off the dirt, having had his nails clipped into uniform shapes, and now being painfully stripped of his hair, he did.

“Okay, I think we’re just about done here!” Yong Soo said, happily.

“Good,” Xiao Chun nodded, approvingly. “Grease him down.”

Feliciano was rubbed down with a lotion by Mei. It hurt and stung at first, but then it soothed his tingling skin. Then the three of them pulled out tweezers, and began to rid any places they missed of hair. He shrieked and yelped every time they plucked one out, whining constantly. 

But then finally, the ordeal was over, and Ming, Yong Soo and Xiao Chun stood back to admire their work. 

“This is good,” Mei said, clapping her hands. “Let’s get Tran!”

And just like that, the three of them bustled off. Feliciano stooped and retrieved his thin robe from the floor, sliding it back onto his body. The soft fabric soothed his skin even more. 

‘Tran’ was a severe looking, middle-aged woman, in a lime green robe, hair in a bun and sealed with what looked like a chopstick. Feliciano smiled nervously at her, but she did not smile back. 

“Take your robe off please,” she said. “I want to inspect you.”

Feliciano, somewhat hesitantly, dropped the robe again. Tran circled his body, sometimes raking a nail down his skin, making soft ‘hmm’ noises. Several times she tried to flatten the one wispy curl of hair that never lay flat on his head down, and sighed in irritation every time it would not. He smiled sheepishly.

“Okay. I’ve seen enough,” Tran then said. “Put your robe back on. We’ll be outfitting you shortly.”

“What am I going to wear?” Feliciano asked, hastily shrugging his robe on. Tran did not answer, rather beckoned for him to follow her out the door again. 

Feliciano knew what he wore would have to reflect what district 3 provided. So it would be something to do with technology. But other than that, he had no clue. Feliciano just hoped he wouldn’t look silly. One year, two tributes from his district wore wires all over their body. When they waved, half of them broke up their arms. Feliciano hoped his outfit wouldn’t break. 

Several hours later, Feliciano had been spray painted silver, and then squeezed into his equally silver suit that shimmered as he moved. It didn’t just shimmer, it moved, as tiny cogs all over his body whirred. He had on a headband pretty much made of cogs resting on his forehead too, and he could hear them clicking just above his ears. 

Kiku came to join him just a few minutes later, in an identical outfit, being escorted by his own prep team. He walked stiffly, as if he were a cog himself. Feliciano gave him a big grin as he entered.

“Wow! You look great!” He beamed. “Our stylists really know what they’re doing, don’t they?”

“I -- I suppose.”

“We’re going to look so great for the Capitol audience! One of them is bound to sponsor us, just like Hera said!”

Kiku just gave him a very confused look. Despite himself, Feliciano felt excited. Maybe it was the mood caused by his ecstatic prep team telling him what a splash he’ll make, maybe it was just hysteria. Feliciano didn’t care -- at least he was distracted enough not to ache for home.

They were taken down to the Remake Centre, which was basically a giant stable. The Opening Ceremony required the tributes to get onto the chariots these horses were to pull, and they would be taken to the City Circle. It was also the first time they could see the other tributes in person. Feliciano gazed around wildly.

The Careers easily stood out from the pack. They were toned and muscled, and looked confident and showy. Feliciano knew he would stand no chance against them. These were people who trained for this sort of thing. But then there were also people like him. Feliciano saw a small boy, just twelve years old, getting onto his chariot. He looked frightened. Overwhelmed. Feliciano tried to give a friendly wave, but they boys eyes flitted away.

His own horses were a dapple grey, like the innerworkings of a screen. Feliciano gave them a small pat before, and with the guidance of his prep team, he got onto his chariot with Kiku. Tran adjusted his headband, smoothed out his sleeves, and then gave him a final once-over.

“... Good,” she said. “Now, heads high. Smiles. You want these Capitol people to like you.”

Then the opening music began to play, and Tran jumped off the chariot again, the prep team following her like ducklings. The massive doors open, revealing the shining Capitol streets and the people along them, cheering and screaming out for them. He could just about see the sky turning the muted evening colours. District one -- a silver-haired girl and a long, blond-haired boy -- ride out first, wearing glittering golden jewels. District One made luxury items, and they were always a good hit.

Then District Two went on, more of the Careers. For a moment Feliciano locked eyes with a boy with slicked-back hair. He wasn’t smiling, or even very excited to see the crowd. He gave a jittery wave, and the boy looked away. Then, it was his turn.

His horses began forwards, so well-trained reigns weren’t even necessary. The moment they were outside the doors it was like someone had turned up the volume. The screaming was so loud in his ears that he couldn’t even hear the ticking of his headband just above them. Feliciano, for a moment, was scared so stiff that he forgot to even smile. But these people were all smiling. They wanted to see him, they were reaching their hands out over the ropes keeping them back as if to touch him. Feliciano relaxed, and gave a timid wave. The crowd roared in response.

This encouraged him, even excited him. Surely one of these people must be willing to sponsor him! Maybe he wasn’t so doomed just yet! Feliciano put on his best, winning smile, and began to wave his arms in a mad wave. These people loved him, surely! And one of them must be rich! 

“Feliciano, Feliciano!” They cheered, and Feliciano grew so confident he even blew a couple of kisses into a crowd of girls. They squealed in response.

It was then he noticed, Kiku wasn’t waving at all. He nudged him.

“Won’t you wave? These people love you!” He cried, happily. “No one will sponsor you if you don’t wave!”

“I don’t want to wave,” Kiku replied, through gritted teeth. “I feel dizzy.”

“Don’t fall off the chariot!” Feliciano replied, alarmed. Kiku could easily break a bone, and they’d probably still send him in the arena regardless. He grabbed his hand. “There, I’ll keep you steady. Now, wave!”

Kiku gave him a very confused look, and gave a half-hearted wave to the crowd. Feliciano just grew and grew in confidence, until he was almost jumping up and down on the chariot, beaming. 

The horses lead them down the streets, and then into the City Circle, around in a large loop, before coming to a stop right outside the President’s huge house. The music ended with a flourish. Peering around, Feliciano could see the clothes of these people at the windows were even fancier than the normal Capitol citizens. They must be mega-rich.

The President stepped right up onto the balcony, and launched into his speech. During the speech, Feliciano could see on the screens it was cutting to all of the tributes faces. When his came on, he gave an extra big beam, and almost waved too, but then the camera cut away to a big beefy man from District 4 behind him. His arm fell, disappointed. 

It was then Feliciano realised he was still holding onto Kiku’s hand. He let go again quickly. Kiku seemed much more steady now that the chariots had stopped, and the crowds weren’t yelling anymore. He began to fidget a little himself however, as the sky darkened, and the president droned on. Thankfully the speech ended, and the chariots did one more lap of the Circle, before disappearing into the Training Centre. This would be their home for the next couple of days.

The moment their chariots stopped, the prep team descended upon them.

“You were great!” Mei squealed. “Lot’s of smiling and waving -- they absolutely loved you!”

“Your outfit looked amazing too,” Yong Soo added. “Trans a genius, isn’t she?”

Tran only gave him a stiff nod. “You did well.”

Feliciano couldn’t help but smile, and stepped down from his carriage. Not ever, in his life, had he felt such a thrill. He glanced at Kiku, who looked reserved, but okay. He was okay too. No, better than okay! Maybe, with the right sponsor, and he stood a chance! 

He still couldn’t fight. But then, Feliciano realised he didn’t need to. Maybe he just needed the right allies. 

Maybe, with some luck, he actually stood a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I actually had a lot of fun with this chapter, and I hope you did too. Also, just in case you missed it:
> 
> Mei -- Taiwan  
> Im Yong Soo -- Korea  
> Li Xiano Chung -- Hong Kong  
> Tran — Vietnam
> 
> Any kudos, comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, I hope I see you in the next chapter!


	4. District 4: Fernandez-Carriedo and Machado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonio has no idea what the Games will have in store. All he can do is try and push the odds into his favour.

The Opening Ceremony had come as something of a shock to Antonio. Of course, he knew it was a special event. That’s why he, along with his fellow tribute, Maximo, had been decked out in shimmering seashells, with a crown of seaweed and pearls on his head. And he knew plenty of people from the Capitol would be there. But he never knew it would be this many.

The screaming hurt his ears as his brown horses, tossing their golden manes, clip-clopped out the enormous doors. Antonio soon warmed up into waving, grinning at these funny Capitol folk. They looked so odd, but to them it was normal. He’d been made up to be odd now too. It almost made him chuckle. 

Antonio, if he was honest, wasn’t too concerned with getting sponsored. He was scared witless of the Hunger Games, sure, but his District was rich enough to pay for his provisions on its own. If he wasn’t dead within the first ten minutes. Antonio knew he was good with a trident, and could work with snares if need be. He was a natural born swimmer, so if the arena was water-based he wouldn’t be drowning anytime soon. He was also technically a part of the career pack, giving him a huge advantage. And, of course, he had nothing to lose from dying. His mother had died giving birth to him, his father died at sea. Antonio had no siblings, barely had any friends. If he won, he could live out his life in the Victor’s Row and have more friends than he’d ever need. If he lost…

He tried not to think about that, focusing on smiling and waving as they entered the City Circle. Maximo was grinning from ear to ear too, waving both his arms around at once. Antonio wondered how he was keeping his balance. The chariots stopped outside the President’s house, and he stepped up onto the balcony to give a long, boring speech. Antonio wasn’t listening, instead focusing his attention on all these rich, Capitol people. 

“Wow,” he whispered to Maximo, “these people must be loaded!”

“Better for us,” Maximo whispered back, “they’ll sponsor us and we’ll be loaded too.”

Antonio smiled around. Part of it was to try and get in favour with all these rich people -- most of it was because the smile couldn’t be taken off his face. Antonio felt excited. He was scared of the Hunger Games, but still determined to win it. He stood a decent chance against some of these poor, terrified children. He was seventeen, sturdily built from all the fishing he did out at sea, and strong. In some areas, skilled. He just had to watch out for the careers. 

Maximo was also strong. Much stronger than he was. He seemed the cheerful type, but also the type to anger quickly. Antonio hoped someone else would take him out. Or better yet have him die by a muttation -- a mutated animal created by the Capitol to become quicker, more vicious, give them poison or something else that was deadly. Last Hunger Games Antonio watched the boy from his district get mauled alive by some crocodile-type mutt with razor sharp teeth. It was horrifying to watch.

He would rather have somewhat of an honourable death being killed by a tribute, than die at the hands of the Capitol.

The President’s speech ended, and the chariots started moving into the Training Centre. This would be his home until he was transported over to the arena. When his horses stopped, Antonio immediately jumped off his chariot with Maximo, staggering slightly.

“Careful there!” Someone grabbed his shoulder, steadying him. “Don’t want ya going AWOL before the Games!”

It was Mathias, his mentor, a man with wild blond hair and large blue eyes. He won the Games only a few years ago, and was one of the most memorable Hunger Games yet. He didn’t use a trident, but rather found he was much more skilled with a long, brutal axe, of which he beheaded half of his victims with. At the final fight, Mathias managed to bury the axe into his victim’s chest, effectively crowning himself the winner.

“Yeah, I guess. Did I do good?”

“You did great,” Mathias said, cheerily. “Didn’t you hear them? They loved you -- both of you,” he added, when Maximo joined them. “They’ll be falling over their feet to sponsor you two!”

“But you can only pick one of us,” Maximo pointed out. 

“Then you gotta convince me which one of you two I gotta be rooting for in here.” Mathias turned suddenly, and gestured to the grand building that was the Training Centre. It was less like a building and more like a tower, with a floor for every district, and a garden rooftop. Then below, was the training centre of which this entire building had been named for. They had three days to train, and then show the Gamemakers what they could do. 

“You’ll train here. Show me exactly what you can do, so I’ll know who to direct the sponsors to. Both of ya look pretty promising to me already. You’re both well-built and you’ve got the crowd’s attention. Now use that!” He suddenly slapped them both hard on the back, making Antonio stumble a bit again. “Tomorrow’s a training day!”

The district 4 escort was busying chatting up the Capitol folk to sponsor them, so Mathias was the one to take them into the building. It seemed simple enough on the elevator; press the button of your district and you’d be taken to your room. The elevator itself was made of transparent crystal, so when they stepped in Antonio could see the ground floor shrinking underneath his very feet. It was exhilarating -- and he was tempted to ask for another go. 

The quarters given to him were even more luxurious than the train he arrived on. There were more gadgets, more technology, everything seemed somehow sleeker, more plush. Everything here was at his disposal. Antonio could zoom in and out on the windows, adjust the lighting by just talking out loud, change the heating on the floor despite the fact it was summer. Every panel seemed to have an endless arrangement of buttons, in a way that he couldn’t possibly press them all. 

He killed the rest of his time in the bathroom, scrubbing away his prep team’s makeup and trying to figure out what buttons on the shower’s control panel wouldn’t either fry him alive or freeze him to death. Antonio didn’t even bother with any soaps or oils or conditioners -- it was all far too complicated for him. When he finally felt clean he dug around in the drawers, finding a suitable, plain shirt and trousers to wear. It was at that moment there was a knock at the door. It was his district 4 escort, who had finally decided to join them, calling him to dinner.

Good. Antonio was starving after all the excitement. 

Maximo was already there with the prep team, chatting away to Mathias. There are also servants standing in every corner of the room, all dressed in white. When Antonio sat down, one hands him a glass full of dark red liquid. It’s alcohol for sure, and Antonio took a sip. It tasted sour and bitter all in one, and quite dry too. But surprisingly, he found himself liking the taste, and drained the glass. He didn’t refuse when the server topped it back up.

“Now!” Mathias said, raising his voice over the general, excited atmosphere of the room. “I know we’re all very excited, we’ve just made a huge splash at the Opening Ceremony, and I wanna offer my congrats to our two tributes on how well they conducted themselves during that.”

There was a smatter of applause and Antonio grinned sheepishly. 

“Now we just gotta decide how to present you,” he continued. “But not now. For now, let’s eat!”

The prep team cheered, and the servers began to hand out the meal. First there was a creamy pink soup with sweet white dust powdered on it, crab cakes that came with a delicious white sauce and small salad, roast lamb studded with rosemary and garlic and vegetables swimming in a rich gravy, and finally, an apple crumble drizzled in thin cream. For a while there was no talk, only food, and severs ran back and forth, filling both plates and wine glasses.

When Antonio was full, he sat back on his chair, grinning happily, just waiting for the others to finish. Maximo was still shovelling in food like he had a bottomless stomach. When they were all done, they moved into the living room, to watch the recap of the Opening Ceremony being played. All the chariots were being pulled past the camera, giving Antonio a good look at the tributes once again. He could only remember a few from the recap of the reapings. A broad, muscled career from 2, a short and severe looking man from 5, a twelve-year-old from 11. Here they were all decked out like he had been, in finery representing their district, timidly waving or baring their teeth in confident smirks. Then the channel changed, to two men sitting behind a table, exchanging idle banter over the costumes and tributes. Antonio recognised one of these men. It was Sadik Adnan. Although he didn’t know many Capitol figures, he knew this one, because this was the man that would be interviewing them on their final day in the Training Centre. Before they would be thrown out into the arena. 

Sadik was alright, as far as Capitol people went. He did truly try and help the tributes by giving them something memorable in the interview, either by reacting to something they said or spurring them on with his own commentary. Although he still looked Capitol-odd -- a mask inlaid with glittering jewels covered the top half of his face, and he often smoked out of a pipe that puffed out shimmering blue smoke.

“These are the lucky tributes this year I get to interview and wow do they look good!” He exclaimed, rubbing his hands. “I reckon we’ve got some right characters with us for interviewing this week! Just look at the pair from district 2 -- very intimidating indeed!”

The screen cut to two bulky blond men stood in their chariot. One stood stiffly, and wasn’t waving at all, while the other bounced and beamed and just radiated confidence. Or maybe it was arrogance. The man sitting next to Sadik gave a noise of agreement.

“Yes, those’ll be the one to favour indeed -- oho but what’s this? District 4 are looking very confident as well!” And then it cut again to his own beaming face with Maximo on the chariot next to him, waving wildly. But it cut away again as Sadik moved on swiftly.

“District 7 are looking mighty fine in outfits of what look like -- trees? Yes, trees, District 7 is lumber after all and they look spectacular!” Now it was showing a boy and a girl tribute, both standing stiffly next to each other. The blond-haired boy was waving, although the girl -- a long-haired brunette -- didn’t bother. Instead she looked to be almost scowling. “District 8 are coming on now. Oh, look at the girl, doesn’t she look a picture!”

Antonio had to agree. The girl -- again, a twelve-year-old -- did look a picture, in a dress made from all different scraps of fabric to show off her district, Textiles. She looked as sweet as a summer’s day, and not at all fit for the Games. It was quite horrible. The boy next to her was dressed similarly, but he did not look sweet and simple-minded. He looked angry. 

They gave commentary on all the tributes, from District One, a silver-haired girl and a slim blond boy, to District 12, two men, one tall with a large nose and one smaller, but a little lanky. Antonio tried to commit a few to memory, to perhaps try and ally with them in training. The only ones that stuck was the broad blond from 2, the girl from 7, and both from 8 and 12. And none of them really looked like ally material. But this was only from appearance alone. The next three days he would be training alongside them, possibly getting to know them better then. He had plenty of time to decide who would be ally-worthy. 

Mathias switched off the TV when the programme moved on, and clapped his hands.

“Well! Well well well! We’ve got the looks, we’ve got the first appearance, now we’ve just got to decide what to do with the rest of you.” He tilted his head to the side, looking at Antonio and Maximo. “‘Cause tomorrow will be your training, and I’ve gotta decide exactly how I want you two to play it. So, got any good skills?”

Antonio shrugged. “I’m pretty good with a trident. I can tie a lot of knots -- oh, and I can do snares.”

Mathias nodded. “Good. And Max -- you?”

“I can wrestle,” he told him. “I think I’d be pre-tty good at hand-to-hand.” To emphasise this, he flexed his muscles. Mathias nodded again.

“Good -- okay!” Mathias sat back. “I think you two should work on your knife skills. Odds are a trident won’t be in there, so work with knives and edible bugs and shit first.”

Antonio nodded. “Anything else?”

He paused. “... Make some friends. One of you get in the career pack. Impress them, show them what you can do, make them see you deserve to be a part of their pack. That’ll give me an idea of who to send the sponsors to.”

Antonio and Maximo glanced at each other. Antonio felt worried -- but Maximo had a look of determination on his face.

“You got it,” Max said, leaning back on the sofa.

“That’ll be all for now,” Mathias decided. And just then the servers came through, with trays of more wine, and a bowl of nuts to crack open with a hammer. Antonio took the wine and began happily cracking the nuts with the others, but he couldn’t shake that look Maximo had. He couldn’t shake off his worried feeling at all. The wine didn’t help, making his mind go foggy, and at some point he switched to water. Antonio didn’t like how foggy his head suddenly felt. He’d seen local drunks down at the pubs -- how did they stand this feeling?

Eventually Antonio departed to bed with the others. His sheets were soft, and he had to stop himself from just diving right in fully clothed. He managed to pull on a pair of silk pyjamas first, and then crawled into the coverlet. Antonio practically sank into the bed, warm and comfortable, but there was still a nagging worry. The same nagging worry he sometimes got when he was about to take one of his boats out into the sea on a seemingly clear day, only to have the weather change mid-morning to tossing waves. 

Antonio hoped there would be no tossing waves in the arena. He didn’t want any nasty surprises. Tomorrow, the agenda was to practice with knives and learn some edible plants. Oh, and make a few friends. It should be simple enough. It should prepare him for the Games.

But then again, no one quite knew what the Games had in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It's a short chapter, not much to add, and the next update will probably be a lot longer as we get to the actual training, and the tributes being able to interact with each other. 
> 
> In case you missed it: 
> 
> Maximo -- Cuba
> 
> Any kudos, comments, or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, I'll hopefully see you in the next chapter!


	5. District 5: Von Bock and Kirkland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day of training. Eduard has almost no skills, and no hope. The only thing he knows he can rely on is getting good allies.

Eduard was nervous about training. 

‘Nervous’ was a bit of an understatement. He’d woken up in a cold sweat, shaking and terrified, having just been roused from a horrible nightmare in which all the tributes ganged up on him, and decided to bury him alive. Though that was unlikely in the arena, it wasn’t much consolation, because the way he’d actually die would probably be a lot worse. Bleeding out on the floor within the first minute of the Games. Eduard grimaced at the thought.

He had three days to train in the Capitol to prevent that from happening. Just three days to build up basic survival skills, knife skills, and an ability to kill. It just wasn’t possible. Hardly anyone from District 5 ever won, because power and electricity simply weren’t useful in the arena. It was a major disadvantage. The only way District 5 ever won was by allying themselves with stronger opponents, and hoping some Capitol muttation would kill them off and win hanging by a thread. Unfortunately Eduard’s social skills were zero to none. And the careers wouldn’t let him in the pack unless he proved himself useful, somehow.

He may as well just enjoy being alive in the Capitol while he could.

Eduard lay in bed a long time, not wanting to quite get up just yet. If he got up from the safe confines of his bed, reality would hit him and then where would he be? In tears, probably. But then he heard the knocking of his district 5 escort come to collect him for breakfast, and knew he couldn’t stay here forever. He didn’t want to miss the Capitol breakfast. Besides, he didn’t want to go to training on an empty stomach. So, with a heavy heart, he forced himself to get up and get changed into something suitable. Then headed downstairs for breakfast.

His district 5 escort -- a dark-skinned man called Neeraja who wore his hair in a dark purple turban -- lead him down to breakfast. He was talking, blathering on again, but Eduard was hardly listening due to his nerves. Nerves about the training. Eyes would be on him, not only from his fellow, much more talented tributes and the careers, but also the Gamemakers. The ones who decided his training score. 

A lump began to form in his throat but before he could break his composure completely, Eduard entered the dining room. 

“We invite you to eat,” Neeraja said, with a gracious smile. “We’ll be talking tactics soon!”

Eduard just nodded, mutely, and headed over to the tables towards the sides of the room. They were piled high with food. Rich, good, Capital food. The only perk of being chosen for the Games. Eduard had soon loaded his plate with ham, slices of cooked tomato, soft boiled eggs in delicate little cups, sausages, and a blueberry muffin, and sat down at the table. Arthur had already joined him.

Arthur was his fellow tribute and, as far as Eduard was concerned, a mystery. When his name had been chosen, after the initial shock, he had maintained a calm composure. He was even pleasant to the escort on the stage. And when he was on the chariot with him, he had smiled and waved politely like the rest. But when in private his face seemed to sink into one of disapprovement and sarcasm. Arthur had little patience, and when Eduard had tried to converse with him, had snapped at him temperamentally. Sometimes it was better. Like now, Arthur’s face seemed lighter, more like his stage one. Still, Eduard didn’t talk to him when he sat down. He didn’t think his nerves could stand being snapped at.

“Isn’t the day so glorious today?” Neeraja smiled, serenely. “You ought to enjoy the beauty of these days you two. In fact, nothing brings out the beauty in the day like knowing they’re numbered.”

“They might not be,” Arthur replied, shortly.

“Ahhh, of course,” he nodded at Arthur. “You could still win.”

Eduard didn’t even ask how Neeraja knew how beautiful a day was by it being numbered. He was a Capitol citizen. He’d never had his life on the line once. 

For a while there was no talk, only food. He wasn’t complaining. Eduard was just finishing, in fact, when his mentor stepped through the door. He looked tired. Or perhaps that was his usual face. Eduard honestly couldn’t tell. His mentor was a constantly deadpanned, silver-haired man called Emil Steilsson. Despite being mid-twenties -- or something like that at least -- he had the body of a fifteen year old. It didn’t help that his jacket looked slightly too long for him. Emil shuffled over to the tables filled with food, took out a soft bread roll and a plate, then sat down at the table with nothing else.

“So,” he began, in a monotone voice. “Tactics.”

“Indeed.” Arthur pushed his plate away from him, finished, and leaned over the table slightly. But Emil didn’t continue for a while, slowly peeling down a bit of the crust from the bread. But he did speak.

“First, if you like, I can coach you both separately. Decide now.” 

“Why would we need to be--” Eduard began, to be cut over.

“Separately. I would prefer separately,” Arthur glanced at Eduard. “No hard feelings. If I come across a winning tactic I wouldn’t like you to know.”

“N-No, of course,” he agreed, “separately it is then.”

“Very well,” Emil said, and put down his roll to scan them both. Eduard suddenly felt uncomfortable, like an x-ray had passed over him. Arthur seemed to sit up a little straighter.

“... I’ll do you first,” he said, pointing right at Eduard’s chest. “Arthur, if you could wait outside with Neeraja please. This shall be a private talk.”

“Oh,” Arthur blinked, clearly expecting to be first. But then he stood. “... Very well. Bring me in when you need me.”

He walked out the room, escorted by Neeraja. Eduard heard the door close behind them, and their footsteps echo away. Then he waited for Emil to speak. The air was slightly awkward. But Emil just took a bite of his roll, and looked at Eduard for a long while, scrutinising him. Eduard fidgeted uncomfortably. Then finally, he spoke:

“Well, you don’t look like much. And your glasses will be a disadvantage in the game,” he told him, taking another bite of his roll. “So, give me an idea of what you can do.”

Eduard fidgeted again. “Well… not anything, really. I don’t know how to use a weapon or have any survival skills. I… don’t even have any social skills, so allies are out. I don’t think I could learn anything in three days. I don’t even look that threatening.”

Emil finally looked up from his roll, curiously. “You’ve thought a lot about this, haven’t you?”

He shrugged. “I… well. I have to if I want to try and win. Don’t I?”

“That is true,” he agreed. “But I didn’t expect you to consider yourself in as many angles as you did. Do you consider yourself a strategic thinker?”

Eduard blinked. “I… well. I suppose?”

Emil nodded. “Okay then. What about a storyline?”

This caught him completely off guard. He shook his head, then pushed his glasses back up his face. “I’m sorry… you lost me. What does a story have to do with this?”

“Hm. I would have thought you figured it out,” his mentor said, with a sigh that made Eduard feel he’d already disappointed him. “In the Hunger Games, who will be watching you?”

“Um… the Capitol?” He tried.

“Who else?”

“The Gamemakers.”

“Right.” Emil peeled another long strip of crust down the roll and popped it in his mouth. “And in order to win, you have to appeal to them both. The Hunger Games isn’t just about survival, it’s a competitive reality show. People of the Capitol tune in to be told a good story. They want someone to root for, someone to root against.” He looked up at Eduard. “You have to make sure you’re the one they want to root for.”

“R-Right,” Eduard said, startled by the intensity of his gaze. “And the Gamemakers?”

“The Gamemakers already know this,” Emil told him, going back to picking at his roll. “When you’re in the arena, they’re the ones that will decide whether you live or die. If you’re not telling a good story, they’ll kill you off. But keep that story alive… they’ll keep you alive. For their audience.”

“... Wow,” he whispered. “I never even thought of that.” Well. He knew the Gamemakers were the ones with all the power. But he never thought of appealing to them with a story. 

“You should consider it,” Emil said. “Or otherwise you’re dead.”

“So… so what story could I tell?” He blustered. His mentor shrugged.

“Doesn’t have to be intricate. Just show the audience you’re someone they should root for. Tell a story of your tragic genius -- or say you’re in love with a girl from home, and you’re just desperate to get back to her. It doesn’t need to be true. Just true enough to believe.”

Eduard nodded. “R-Right. Okay.”

“And as for your training…” Emil sucked the crumbs off his finger for a moment. “... Get some allies. Practice basic, passive survival skills. Show determination. Don’t let others walk all over you. The Gamemakers are watching. In the interview, you can make it all come together when you tell your story.”

He nodded again. “Anything else? I -- I think I’ll go for the ‘girl-from-home’ story… if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “In that case show you’re determined to get home. That is all.”

Eduard took that as his cue to leave. He stood up, and was almost at the door, when Emil spoke again.

“Don’t tell Arthur about appealing to the Gamemakers,” he said. Eduard blinked.

“Erm… why?”

“I want to see if he figures it out on his own,” Emil replied, turning away from him. “Besides, he stands enough of a chance without the knowledge, it seems.”

He nodded. “... Right. I won’t tell him.”

“Good.” He waved a hand, shooing him off. “Now bring Arthur in.”

Eduard left, with a feeling of worse unease than ever. The plan wasn’t half bad, he’d give Emil that, but even so, to him it wasn’t likely to work. Then again, he couldn’t exactly question his mentor. 

He found Arthur and Neeraja in the living room. Arthur immediately stood when he saw Eduard.

“I assume he wants me now?” He asked, raising his eyebrow. Eduard nodded.

“Yes, he’s in the--”

“I know,” Arthur said, brushing past him. Eduard watching him leave, pushing his glasses back up his face again. Arthur was much more assertive than he was. Probably much more promising to the Gamemakers. Eduard knew he still didn’t stand a chance. This thought didn’t help him. 

“Training begins at ten,” Neeraja told him. “You have a whole hour to fill until then! Spend it as you please.”

Eduard just nodded mutely. He spent the rest of his time in his room, lying on the silken sheets, just waiting for training to come. That talk with his mentor, rather than help his anxiety, rather sharpened it as now he knew what was really at stake here. He had to get their appeal. Their approval. Since there was obviously no way he’d ever do any good with a weapon. 

This just brought on a whole new longing for home. Home… where his mother and father were. No doubt they’d locked the doors, closed the shutters, already overcome with grief. How many times had his mother cried for him? How many times had his father stayed out drinking? Or… were they already trying to move on, already accepted that their only son had no chance in the Hunger Games? It was probably for the best.

It was too close to ten to cry. It would show to everyone else. To distract himself, Eduard brushed his teeth and smoothed back his hair. There. Now he looked presentable. 

At ten, he met Neeraja and Arthur at the elevator. His anxiety spiked, but he forced himself to push it back down. The actual training grounds were below the Training Centre itself, an enormous gymnasium complete with weapons, obstacle courses, and stations to learn edible bugs, plants and how to tie a decent knot. Eduard immediately felt out of place, not because of the equipment, but the people. He was among the last to arrive, despite it not yet being ten. Although he was decently built and quite sturdy, he was no match for these people. District 2 and 4 looked particularly threatening -- although one of those from 4 gave him a cheery smile. 

They were all kneeling in a circle, a cloth square marked with their district pinned to their backs. When Eduard stepped into the circle with Arthur, he felt his own cloth get pinned on, undoubtedly with the number 5. 

All that was left to do now was wait as the last of the tributes filed in. District 12 was the last -- a tall brunet and an even taller, broad man wearing a pink scarf. He was built like the ones from 2 who had trained for this. But Eduard could see the hollowness of his eyes that meant he could never eat what the ones from 2 could. 

Right. Because the whole setup was against the starving districts from the start. It was even in the name.

When the two finally enter into the circle, the head trainer steps up. Eduard’s attention immediately went to a man with a plaster stuck around his nose from a fight, and hair that stuck up in wild angles despite it being attempted to be slicked back. The man introduced himself as Ralph, and went over the training schedule.

Each station had an expert in the section, and the expert would remain there to teach and give advice. They were free to travel from area to area as they chose, per their mentors instruction. The stations had a variety of skills from passive survival skills, to not-so-passive fighting techniques. They were forbidden from fighting with the other tributes, there were assistants on hand if they wanted to train in combat. 

Then, Ralph began reading down a list of the stations. Eduard’s eyes flitted to the different ones. There was a weightlifting section, a spear-throwing section, even a section on how to use a trident. But then there were also ones like camouflage, knot-tying, fire-starting. Those were the one’s Emil told him to go for. But then -- he looked around, and his eyes landed on the Gamemaker’s box. They were watching. Staring down at them like hawks. Eduard locked eyes with one, and quickly looked away again. He had to swallow hard.

Right. Focus. He had to look determined to get back home again. 

Eduard was so wrapped up in thought that he didn’t even hear when Ralph blew the whistle, indicating time had started. He stood up, feeling a little foolish, and looked about. There were plenty of people at the weapon’s area. The girl from one was fingering the knives, and the blond without the glasses from 2 was beginning to pick up weights. But then there were also quite a few in the passive-skills area. In the fire-starting section, there were two boys already. The brunet who had shown up late from 12, and a tiny, timid twelve year old from 11. Eduard glanced at the careers, since obviously he’d rather have a chance with them that with these two people as hopeless as he was. But funnily enough the career tributes weren’t exactly beckoning him over with bright smiles. So Eduard decided to join them.

“Hey,” he said, nervously, as he sat besides them. Great, conversation had never been his strongest suit from the start. And what was he supposed to say to people that, just in a few days time, he’d be struggling to kill? “Erm… do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all!” The brunet said, and shuffled over slightly to make room for Eduard. “We could use some help, actually. I don’t suppose you know anything about starting fires?”

Eduard shook his head. “No. I’ve.. never needed to. I’m from district 5.”

“That’s power, right?” The man asked. “I’m from 12 -- coal production and mining. I guess we’re both going to have to learn. I’m Toris by the way -- Toris Laurinaitis.”

“Eduard von Bock,” he replied, with a nod. Then he turned to the twelve-year-old. “What about you?”

“R-Ravis,” he said, with a shadow of a smile. “Ravis Galante. From 11 -- Agriculture.”

“That’s the orchards, right?” Eduard asked, just to try and keep a conversation going. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I climb trees to get the fruit. Or… Or I did…”

Eduard wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything, rather started to collect up sticks and lay them in the fashion the other two were. It was Toris who spoke next.

“Well, I work in the mines,” he said. “I just started this year. You don’t get to go down until you’re nineteen. It’s hard work. And dangerous too. The mines could blow up at any second.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Ravis shuddered. Eduard had to agree. “Don’t you get scared?”

“Well, we have defenses in place,” he said. “We bring canaries down, so we know when they stop singing it’s time to get out of there. That’s when the level of dust in the air becomes dangerous.”

“That makes my district sound like a safe haven,” Ravis mumbled. “Some of us will fall out of trees occasionally and break a bone. But that’s it.”

“What about you, Eduard?” Toris asked. “How do you work?”

“Oh I -- I don’t work yet,” he said. “We’re like 3. We’re schooled on power and then when we’re seventeen we go into the factories. If we’re lucky we might get to work outside the district in the generators that power the Capitol. But… not where I live, generally.”

Toris nodded. “You must be smart to do all that tech stuff. I couldn’t do something like that.”

Eduard smiled a little. “Well, we are taught very young. And -- you’ll have more strength than I ever will. Weilding a pickaxe and all. You two have more of a chance than I have.”

“Not really,” he replied. “We only learn to use a pick when we’re nineteen. That’s too late, really.”

“How do I have more of a chance than you?” Ravis asked, curiously. “I’m the youngest here. Well -- one of the youngest anyway.”

“You can hide,” Eduard explained. “You can climb trees. I can’t do that. I… can’t do anything, really.”

“Don’t be so discouraged,” Toris laughed. “We’re not that far ahead of you. WIth your brain you’ll overtake us easily.”

The conversation was hardly normal. In fact, they were giving each other advice in the Games. Eduard was doubtful whether or not he should even be doing that. He put it down to the fact they were all scared witless. They weren’t talking sense. Of course, none of them had a chance, they all knew that. It would be one of the careers that took the crown, and that would be that.

… But surprisingly enough, joking about it a little didn’t dishearten him all that much. In fact, it was comforting to know that they were just as scared as him. Eduard, for the first time since arriving, allowed himself to relax. 

About half an hour in, they could all start a decent fire with matches. A full hour they could do it with flint. For the remaining hour before lunch, Toris suggested they move over to the edible plants section. Ravis had a leg up here; he’d been around plants and trees and knew by instinct which ones to take and leave. Eduard and Toris, in comparison, struggled.

“It’s just memorisation,” Ravis said sheepishly. “You’ve just got to know what to look out for.”

“Apparently,” replied Eduard, frustrated. All these plants looked the same to him. How did Ravis know instinctively which one to choose? “I’ll just have to avoid eating plants when I’m in the arena. I’ll get poisoned otherwise.”

“So will I,” Toris sighed. But before he could say anything more, a bell rang.

“ALRIGHT, THAT’S LUNCH!” Ralph yelled. Eduard could frequently hear him yelling. In fact the past hour he’d been wrestling with the glasses-career from 2. 

The twenty-four of them were supposed to eat lunch in a dining room just off the gymnasium. There were tables scattered about that room, plus dining carts to serve yourself on. The career pack had already established themselves, and gathered around the largest table together noisily. Both tributes from 1. The glasses boy from 2. Both of district 4. A girl from 7 and a boy looking a little out of place from 10. Plus the pink-scarf-boy from 12, Toris’ fellow tribute. The rest of the tributes were scattered about like lost sheep, keeping to themselves. Eduard glanced at Ravis and Toris. 

“Want to sit together?” Toris asked, with a shrug. “It’s better than sitting alone.”

“Okay,” replied Eduard, a little awkwardly.

They had to wait for the careers to serve themselves, then stepped up. Lunch was beef stew served with wild rice, and more bread rolls. He was reminded of Emil that morning. Had he shown enough determination to the Gamemakers? Perhaps not. Maybe he would have to save that for the interview night.

Toris chose the table at the very end. They looked a little odd together; a great nineteen-year-old, a tiny thirteen-year-old, and a weedy fifteen-year-old, but they did their best to keep a conversation going. It felt oddly natural. Eduard loosened up again as his filled his stomach. Besides, it was fascinating hearing about the other districts. Usually they kept themselves to themselves. By far this had been the best part of being chosen. Even if he wished he had never been chosen at all.

Eduard, strangely enough, almost felt at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Now we're in the actual training, I can actually have the tributes interact, finally. Hopefully you can begin to see where everyone falls into place over the next few chapters. 
> 
> In case you missed it:
> 
> Neeraja -- India  
> Ralph -- Australia
> 
> Any kudos, comments, or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, I'll hopefully see you in the next chapter!


	6. District 6: Williams and Wang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew already knows he's doomed for the Games. And that thought terrifies him.

Oh God.

What was he doing here?

He didn’t belong here.

Matthew sat on a table alone, like many of the other tributes in the training centre. This wasn’t the first time he’d eaten alone. In school, he wasn’t all that popular. In fact, as far as just being shy and introverted went, he was practically invisible. His mentor had told him to make friends, but he didn’t know how. Matthew had spent the entire morning in the camouflage sector, trying to pluck up the courage to just go and talk to someone. In the end he had approached no one, and now had a total of zero friends. Not even his fellow tribute from district 6, Yao Wang, wanted much to do with him. He was a short but sharp man, eighteen years old, a good four years older than himself. It was clear he wanted nothing to do with Matthew, and he’d left him alone accordingly. 

Matthew considered approaching him now. He was sitting on a table by himself as well. It would be better than sitting alone. In fact, he was just summoning up the courage to do it, when someone blocked his view. He looked up into the face of a man a little older than him, with shaggy blond hair around his face. He pointed at the seats opposite Matthew.

“Anyone sitting here?” He asked.

“Uh- uhh - no?” Matthew offered, timidly. “Sit wherever you like.”

“There are no other free tables,” the man replied, and looked back over his shoulder, towards the youngest girl here. She was talking to the two girls from district 9, but when she caught the man staring at her, gave a smile and a small wave.

“Lili,” he called. “Over here. I found somewhere to sit.”

‘Lili’ excused herself from women, and skipped over. “Big brother, they said they liked my dress for the Opening Ceremony! They said they liked all the different fabrics!”

Matthew stared at them. Big Brother? Surely she didn’t mean…? No, of course she didn’t. How could she? The odds of that were so slim. 

“Do you have a name?” Lili asked, as she sat down. “I’m Lili Zwingli. And this is my brother, Basch Zwingli.” She patted his elbow, not at all intimidated by his scowl or generally unsociable aura. “We both got picked for the Games.”

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said, before he could think about it. He nervously stirred his stew. “I… that must be awful.”

“I would’ve volunteered for her,” Basch muttered. “If I hadn’t been picked first. Just know I’m not a coward, I just got picked first.”

Matthew shook his head. “I -- uhhh -- I wasn’t accusing you of… of being a coward. I was just saying… I don’t think I could volunteer for anyone…”

“Then you,” he said, as he scooped up a spoonful of stew and put it in his mouth. “Are the worst kind of person.”

Matthew decided to stay quiet at that.

“I saw you at the camouflage section,” Lili piped up. “You’re really good at it, you know?”

He blinked. “Oh I… I suppose. Thank you.”

“You’re better than good,” Basch said, shaking his head. “At times I couldn’t even see you. But you’re going to need more than evasive maneuvers in the Games.”

“I know,” Matthew sighed. “I’m just not… good at anything offensive. My mentor told me to build up survival skills. That’s all.”

Basch nodded. “I see.”

“We’re going to be teaming up,” Lili told him. “My big brother is going to practice with weapons, and I’m going to build shelters and learn to make snares. That’s our strategy.”

“But… what about…” Matthew began, hesitantly. “What if it comes down to only you two left?”

“It won’t come down to that,” Basch replied, roughly. “There are plenty of tributes out there. Odds are one of us is going to die.”

Lili looked down into her stew, and bit her lip. He wished he never spoke. Conversation was never his best point. And what was he supposed to talk about here anyway? Matthew stayed quiet. 

After a few moments Lili went back to eating her stew. At least she was perking up a bit now. 

“What district are you from?” She asked him. “We’re from 8. That’s why my dress was made from all those different fabrics!”

Matthew nodded. District 8 was Textiles. As poor as you could get as a district too, and full of factories with smog in the sky. Not a blade of grass in sight. “I’m from district 6.”

“That’s transport?” She asked, tilting her head. “What do you do there?”

He shrugged. “A few things. Not much, really. We, um… make the trains. A few of the hovercrafts. The non-weapon kind of course, those are made in 2…” Matthew laughed nervously. She nodded, absorbing the information.

“I work in a factory,” Lili said. “After school, that is. I make Peacekeeper clothes. Or, well, I’m being trained to still. Do you work in a factory too?”

“Uh, no,” he said, sheepishly. “I just go to school. We’re trained in mechanics there, to fix the trains when they break down. Or we become porters, or routers, or baggage handlers…”

“What do you want to be?”

“Me?” It was a bit of a stupid question to ask now. Even if, by some miracle, he won, he wouldn’t go back to having a job. He’d be a victor, and live in the victor’s row. Of course, if he even survived. “Oh I -- I wanted to become a conductor.”

Lili nodded. “I always wanted to become a designer! It gets boring, having to make the same things over and over again. Peacekeeper uniforms are ugly anyway. I want to make mine pretty, and functional.”

“Oh that’s… nice.”

“I know!” She smiled, but then her smile dropped. “But no one ever does get to become designers. We just make the clothes.”

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said, automatically. Lili shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter now anyway. If I win, my dreams come true! If I lose…” she didn’t need to finish the sentence. They all knew what she meant.

For another short while there was silence, just the sound of their spoons scraping up the last remains of their stew. Matthew found he had lost his appetite anyway. He knew he ought to load up but for some reason he was feeling sick. Maybe he just missed home. And he did, he ached for home so much at times it hurt. Matthew could feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes, but quickly blinked them away. He needed to district himself.

“What -- um…” he began, without thinking, then bit his lip. “... Do you guys mind if I join you for training?”

“You can join me!” Lili said, brightly. “Big Brother will be using weapons. I’m going to learn how to build a shelter!”

Matthew smiled gratefully. “Thank you. If -- if you want -- I can show you how to camouflage. If you like.”

“Will you?” She asked, and smiled a smile all too big for the circumstances. “Thank you so much!”

“We’re not going to be allies,” Basch suddenly said, staring at Matthew. “If that’s what you’re thinking. We’re doing this on our own.”

“Oh -- n-no -- I wasn’t implying--”

“Good,” he said, shortly. Luckily Matthew was saved from further embarrassment, by Ralph bursting back into the room.

“Alright, you can all go back in now!” He announced, with his usual bounce. “Lunch hour should be finishing up, you’ve got fifteen minutes to finish!”

All the careers automatically stood up, and filtered out in the same noisy fashion they had all of lunch. Curiously enough, Matthew spotted, one of the boys from 2 wasn’t with them. In fact he was sitting by himself. Odd, for a career tribute. He glanced over at the other two.

“Should we, um…?”

“Come on, Matthew!” Lili said, standing up. “Or -- is it okay if I call you Mattie for short? You can call me Lil!”

“Oh, um -- yes that’s fine,” he agreed. “... Lil.”

Lili’s smile stretched wide, and she slipped her little hand into his. Basch watched them leave with an air of disapproval. Matthew could feel his eyes on his back the whole way down the corridor, and back into the training room. Luckily Lili distracted him by dragging him over to the shelter-building station. “Come on!” She chirruped. “We should get some good practice in!”

Their instructor for that section had them building a pretty simple structure. Matthew found he also excelled at this, managing to camouflage the shelter into the surroundings so it looked near invisible. He was pretty pleased with his work -- and Lili seemed to be pleased too. Matthew had set her picking flowers so it would blend in better, a task she enjoyed, but one just laboured for too long over. She also mixed the flowers together in bouquets that looked definitely man-made, but Matthew didn’t like to point this out to her. Fun was limited these days.

He also kept an eye out on Basch, just for curiosity. He came out of the lunch room not five minutes later, wearing a scowl. He crossed straight over to the spear-throwing section. Matthew saw he was good at it too. His heart sank. He couldn’t throw a weapon like that. His aim was awful. He was always last picked in PE. 

Lili caught him staring, and pointed proudly at her brother. “He’s good at it, isn’t he?”

Matthew nodded, dejected. “Yes… very…”

“Don’t feel bad because you’re not on our team,” she told him. “I’m sure you’ll do great just on your own.”

He nodded again, this time staying quiet. Lili changed track.

“Show me how to camouflage?” She asked, tugging his arm. “Pleaaase? I think I need lot’s and lot’s of help with it.”

“Alright,” Matthew agreed, and showed her a ghost of a smile. “I’ll show you.”

There was already someone over at the camouflage section. It was a boy from 11, much older than Matthew or Lili, at seventeen. But… there was something wrong with him. He had a crooked back. He was a hunchback. Matthew automatically felt a stab of pity for him. There was no way this boy could win, lacking so severely in the athletics department.

“Hello mister!” Lili said, not at all perturbed by his crooked appearance. “Do you mind if we join you?”

“No,” he replied, in a voice that sounded a little… pompous. “Go ahead if you like, child.”

“Thank you! I’m Lili by the way. Lili Zwingli!” She told him, with a smile. “District 8. And that’s Matthew -- he’s from district 6!”

“I can see,” the man replied, looking at her back where the pinned district number was. Matthew could now see he also had glasses. Well, he also had glasses, which was going to be a disadvantage in the game. “I’m Roderich, from 11.”

“Nice to meet you,” Matthew nodded, a little stiffly. Roderich paid no attention to him, going back to coating his arms in a thick, muddy paste. Matthew could see him cringing a little at all the mud. That surprised him. District 11 was agriculture. Surely he saw mud all the time? … Maybe not with his crooked back.

“You have a very funny looking back,” Lili ventured, gazing at it. “Why is it like that? Did you break it?”

“No I did not break it,” he said, a little waspishly. “I was born like this. It’s a deformity, and it’s called being hunchbacked.”

“It does look like it’s all hunched up,” she nodded. It was here Matthew noticed another odd thing. Roderich talked posh. He had that posh-sounding accent. Well, it wasn’t mega-posh, but distinctly noticeable. Where could he have picked that up from? 

It was here he caught Roderich almost glaring at him, and realised he’d been staring. Matthew flushed darkly and looked away. Of course the man didn’t like being stared at, that was so rude of him. He mumbled out a quick ‘sorry’, and began to gather up the muddy paste Roderich had previously been using to coat down his arms. 

Lili showed a disgust about having to rub mud on her arms.

“It’s for camouflage,” Matthew tried to explain, helplessly. “You might not like it but it can hide you from the enemy.”

“None of the colours are pretty,” she pointed out, dejectedly. “And the mud feels all gross. I can hide in a bush or something.”

“They might see your hair though, unless you cover it with leaves?” He suggested. Lili thought.

“Then I’ll cut it,” she declared. “It’ll probably be a nuisance in the Games anyway. I’ll cut it really short -- like my big brother’s!” Lili smiled. “I should like to look like him! Maybe I’ll look scary then!”

Matthew doubt she could look scary if she tried. Lili was just too sweet and simple-minded. Perhaps too simple-minded for her age…

“Think of it this way,” said Roderich loudly, from behind them. “I don’t really want to do this either. But if you get through it and win the Games then you’ll never have to do it ever again.”

Lili pursed her lips, but then hesitantly scooped up a handful of mud. For a second Matthew thought she was going to throw it at him, and flinched -- but then she started rubbing it on her arms. “There. How’s this?”

“Perfect,” Matthew replied, quickly. He turned to Roderich and mouthed a quick ‘thank you’. He just shrugged and carried on with his work. Matthew felt like he should say something more, but he couldn’t find the words. So he remained quiet. 

After the camouflage section, he and Lili, covered with mud and giggling slightly about how ridiculous the other looked when they were out in the open, decided to move on to the edible plants. Matthew found he had an eye for this sort of thing, once he knew what to look for in the flowers. Several times he stopped Lili from choosing something that was poisonous.

“I’m no good at this,” she huffed a laugh. “Maybe you should be on our team after all!”

“Or not,” said a stern voice behind them. Matthew jumped and dropped his handful of mint leaves. He turned around to see Basch, right behind them. But he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at Lili. “Come on, Lili. I want you to learn some knife skills.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want me learning weapons.”

“Knives don’t just have to be used as weapons,” he answered. “There are plenty of passive uses for knives too. Besides, if you get snuck up on and I’m not there…”

“I’ll learn to use a knife,” Lili replied quickly.

“Come on. Leave Matthew now.” 

Matthew had been planning on joining them, but stopped at those words and wilted. It was obvious he wasn’t wanted. As Basch took Lili’s muddy hand to lead her away, she twisted around to wave.

“Bye Mattie!” She called. “We should train again tomorrow!”

He nodded dumbly, a little too shocked to speak. 

The rest of his time he spent at the edible plants and insects. Some people came and went, but never engaged in much conversation with him. Matthew left the training room, still with no allies.

Well, not quite. As the elevator doors closed on him, he saw through the transparent glass someone waving. Lili. He couldn’t quite see what she was mouthing, and the lift shot upwards not a second after that to his floor, but he got a warm feeling from it anyway. Lili might not be his ally, but she might be his friend. Which, arguably, could be the first friend he’d ever had. Matthew wasn’t and had never been popular in school. Friend. He liked that. 

He still cried himself to sleep that night, aching for home, but it somehow seemed less bad. Maybe if it came down to it Lili would go to him for help. Maybe Basch would let him team up with them. Matthew was still one-hundred percent certain he would die, but maybe now it wouldn’t be at the cornucopia. All he needed were a few new skills, some sponsors…

Matthew fell asleep under the silken sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've pretty much sorted a publishing schedule now, updates should be weekly, sometime on a Saturday. There are also no obscure characters for me to identify at the end this time!!
> 
> Any kudos, comments, or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, I'll hopefully see you in the next chapter!!


	7. District 7: Hedevary and Popescu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeta couldn't have it better from a fighting standpoint. The only problem is the people.

The moment her District 7 escort read that name off the piece of paper, Elizabeta knew she was doomed. Not her own name. She knew at least she stood a fighting chance in the Games. She was fit, she was athletic, she could wield an axe and climb trees like a little monkey. No, that didn’t concern her. What bothered her was the other boy’s name that came out of the reaping ball. 

She didn’t recognise him right away. In fact, Elizabeta didn’t recognise him until she saw his face, largely because she’d always known him by a different name. At the time she was working through her feelings of confusion mixed with anger, but looking back now she was just annoyed. How dare he look so scared and shaky, when she’d always known him as arrogant?! How dare he make her almost feel sorry for him!

Elizabeta was annoyed. And furthermore she was annoyed by the fact that she was annoyed. It had been two days into the period of preparation, she ought to have been over this by now. But every time she saw him there was a prickling of annoyance that she just couldn’t ignore. Elizabeta had tried to have very little to do with him, taking the training separately, however this was proving to be very difficult when he was her district partner. 

Whatever. That would just make him easier to kill. Besides, odds were she wouldn’t even get to him first. There were twenty-two other tributes after all.

Sunlight began to stream in from the window, and Elizabeta allowed herself to sit up slowly. Second day of training would start today. She’d been lucky on the first day; the career pack had taken notice of her and she thought there was a good chance of her getting in. Banishing the thoughts of her district partner out of her mind, Elizabeta got out of bed, showered, then began to change into a simple green shirt and leggings. She combed back her wet hair, tied it into a ponytail, and then she finally made her way down to the dining area, hoping that whatever the Capitol was serving, it would be good. 

The Capitol food did not disappoint. Elizabeta ignored the Avox that was to serve her, instead grabbing a plate of her own and helping herself to three little wraps stuffed with bacon and lettuce, a yogurt bowl, and a large croissant with icing drizzled over it. She wanted more, but had learned the hard way on the first night about pacing herself with the good stuff. This would do for now. If she wanted more she could always go up and get more. 

Elizabeta tried to eat quickly, but it wasn’t long before she heard the door open behind her. She hoped it would just be their escort, or Michelle, their mentor, but once side-glance told her it wasn’t either of them. There was that prickle of annoyance again. 

“You look as dainty as ever,” Vladimir Popescu said, sarcastically. Or, as she knew him, Alin Radacanu. “Or are you trying to make a statement?”

Elizabeta realised she’d managed to smear yogurt around her face, and half of the contents of her wrap was falling out around her fingers. She gave a grunt of admission, wiping it off with her sleeve while he busied himself with breakfast. 

“Better than what you wear half the time, Al-- Vladimir,” she shot back. “You wander around in that godawful coat.”

“Feel free to call me Alin,” he replied, dismissively. “It’s weird when you call me Vlad.”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” She snapped.

Elizabeta wasn’t sure why she was so sore about not knowing his real name all this time. It just made him even more of a lying creep, but why did she care? She already knew he was a lying creep. Maybe because out of all the lies he’d ever told, this was one of the biggest, and she was only finding out three days before she’d be sent to a bloodbath. 

“It’s my birth name, yeah,” Alin -- or Vladimir -- replied. She really needed to settle on a name for him. Somehow ‘lying creep’ just wasn’t cutting it. “But you know me as Alin.”

Vladimir it was, just to annoy him. “Very well, Vladimir.” 

“What did I just -- oh you know what, forget it,” he snapped back. Vladimir sat down on the opposite end of her table, as far away as he could. Unfortunately ‘far’ wasn’t very far. Elizabeta wished Michelle was here to ease the tension a little. It was unbearable, being stuck alone in a room with him. 

Ever since she could remember, Elizabeta had known Vladimir. It had been so much easier to make him cry back in Primary school, and she could just shove him over into the dirt when he annoyed her. As he grew older it became significantly harder. He learned how to duck, and dodge, and give sly blows back along with infuriating taunts. Elizabeta knew she ought to feel sorry for him, knowing his parents had died, but he made it so difficult by acting like an ass. She much preferred his younger brother to him, who was sweet and simple-minded. 

Elizabeta bit into her wrap, stewing away. There was a resentful silence between them she was beginning to really hate. Luckily it was punctured by the arrival of their mentor.

“Hello you two,” Michelle said, cheerfully. “You’re up early. Ready for that full day of training?”

Elizabeta didn’t understand how she could be so cheerful about this. She’d lived the arena. She’d witnessed the murder. She’d taken an axe to the last boy’s head and cut it clean off. Surely she understood training for this kind of thing wasn’t something to be all that cheerful about.

Michelle ignored both of their sullen silence, serving herself with some kind of weird, pickled food Elizabeta hadn’t touched, and sitting down beside her. “After this I’m going to talk to you a bit more about your training. See what you can do and what areas you need to work on.” 

Both of them nodded mutely. There was nothing much to say. Besides, the tension in the air was still palpable. Elizabeta vaguely wondered where their escort was. Probably off somewhere getting his eyebrows done. In any case, there was no sign of him. 

Michelle continued, ignoring the tense air. “Elizabeta, I’ll start with you. Vladimir can wait out in the living room while we talk. I hope there’s no issue with that…?”

She shook her head. “No. None.” It wasn’t like he could use her tactics anyway. Elizabeta doubted he even knew how to fight.

“Great! We’ll discuss after breakfast.”

Another silence swept over them, penetrated only by the sounds of eating. Elizabeta could have sworn Vladimir was taking extra long just to spite her. Well, what did she care? She’d have the last laugh when he was dead at the cornucopia. It was only just then it hit her. 

She could quite possibly see Vladimir die. And, sure, he was an asshole, but no one deserved that. Elizabeta hated him, but did she want him dead? … No. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone. She ground her teeth, glaring at her wrap. She couldn’t be thinking about these things! It wasn’t going to help her win in the Games. In fact if she cared about everyone going into the Games she’d be in a very sorry state indeed. Elizabeta would rather have Vladimir go in with her than any of her close friends. Besides… she probably wouldn’t be the one killing him.

Then, Vladimir stood up, ending her trial of thought. Probably the best thing he’d done for her so far.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, shortly. “I’ll be in the living room. Send me when you need me.”

With that, he exited. Elizabeta watched the door close behind him.

“So,” Michelle began, directing her attention back at her mentor. “You’ve had your first day of training. How did it go?”

She shrugged. “Pretty good. I made some friends with the careers. I think there’s a good chance of getting in with them. Um… I showed them my combat with an axe and that seemed to impress them.”

“Good! What about survival skills?”

Elizabeta shrugged again. “Less so. I mean -- I can climb trees and run… but that’s about it. It’s not going to really matter if I’m with the careers.”

“That’s true,” Michelle agreed. “But it wouldn’t be a waste even so. Try and spend some time in edible plants. Just an hour or so -- then you can get back to the careers.”

She considered for a moment. At one point or another, she probably had to go and leave the career pack. Being with the careers was a huge advantage -- but also very dangerous when they all started turning on each other. And when she did leave, those survival skills were going to come in handy. It wasn’t guaranteed that she’d be able to steal food from them, or when the food would run out. So, Elizabeta nodded in compliance.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll learn a few things.”

“Good! Other than that you’re all set,” Michelle smiled at her, and gestured towards the door. “Can you bring in Vladimir?”

“Sure.”

Elizabeta stood up and crossed over to the door. But behind it she could hear a muffled, scuffling noise. She frowned, and opened the door. The living room was adjacent to the dining room, and Vladimir was lying on the sofa. He looked up at Elizabeta when she entered.

“My turn?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she moved aside to let him through. “Go and wow her.”

Vladimir scowled and shouldered her as she passed him. It wasn’t very hard but Elizabeta felt a rush of rage from it, and felt like clouting him about the head a few times for it. Unfortunately he’d disappeared through the door before she had the chance. She could hear Michelle’s very muffled voice greeting him. And then she realised what the scuffling was. He’d been spying on her.

Well. Two could play at that game. Elizabeta knelt down by the keyhole to listen. She could see Vladimir sitting opposite their mentor, and Michelle’s mouth moving, but the sound was too muffled to hear. Elizabeta pressed her ear right against the keyhole to listen. 

“Alright, tell me straight how screwed I am,” she heard Vladimir say. There was a sigh from Michelle.

“Well… your odds aren’t great, but--”

“But what?” He snapped back. “Face it, I can’t do anything! Unless you count card tricks!”

“A lot of other tributes don’t have many survival skills either,” Michelle reminded him. “It’s their first time too with a weapon.”

“Yeah, and they won’t be winning either,” Vladimir retorted. Elizabeta heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and another deep sigh. “... I’ll be dead at the Cornucopia.”

“Not necessarily,” Michelle argued. “You can climb. You told me that.”

“Any fool can climb a tree,” he replied, dismissively.

“Well… no. The careers are really too bulky for the high branches to take their weight. Besides, us district 7’s don’t even need branches to climb at times.”

“Not me,” he replied, moodily. “I don’t have the brute strength.”

There was silence for a time and Elizabeta allowed herself to take her ear away from the keyhole. She didn’t want to hear any more. If she did… she was afraid she’d lose the bottle to kill entirely. If she could feel sorry for Vladimir, recognise he had thoughts and feelings, even though she hated him, what hope did she have against the other tributes? Elizabeta pushed herself away from the door quickly, heading back to her room. 

For the rest of that hour, Elizabeta filled it with distracting her mind from how she could possibly kill another human being. Shook out her hair from her ponytail and plaited it back instead. Play with the gadgets and gizmos the Capitol had offered her. Until Michelle came knocking on her door to tell her that it was ten o’clock -- training time. Elizabeta rode the lift down with Vladimir, both of them awkwardly doing their best not to make eye contact. She vaguely wished she hadn’t dropped out of spying on him halfway through. She wanted to know what they talked about.

This time there was no circle of tributes, although the pieces of cloth were still pinned to their backs. Elizabeta headed straight over to the careers, who had gathered in the spear-throwing section. The careers consisted of both tributes from 1: a flashy boy called Francis, who, despite being overly smug and had the face of a quiche that had folded in on itself, could be deadly with a bow and arrow; Natalya, a quiet, direct girl of few words, with a skill for knives. Both tributes from 4: Antonio, olive-skinned with black curly hair, who’s snares could entrap anyone he set his mind to; Maximo, a broad, dark-skinned man, that used his brute strength and raw muscle to fight hand-to-hand with his enemies. Another two boys from 5 and 6: Arthur, a slim but surprisingly arrogant man, who’d proved himself worthy of the careers by both his ensnaring abilities and genius tactical plans; Yao, small and sharp, not much escaped his notice, a genius like Arthur, and found to be just as good as wielding knives as Natalya. Finally, the boy from 12, a huge, broad man called Ivan. He worked in the mines, so could wield a pickaxe and that wasn’t a far cry from a sword. He was quiet though, hardly ever spoke to them, as if he didn’t really want to be there.

Then, there was the ringleader of them all: Alfred. He decided who came and who went. A strong, confident, capable career, skilled in multiple sections from swords to, currently, spears. Elizabeta reckoned he could even take Maximo in hand-to-hand. There had been a dispute yesterday where a fight nearly broke out because his fellow tribute from 2, a broad man with his hair slicked back, had also been in the career pack when it was clear Alfred didn’t want him there. His district partner left, and Alfred stayed, effectively deciding who was the boss. 

Elizabeta herself had only gotten in because she’d been showing off with an axe in front of Alfred. He’d asked her what she could do and she told him straight; wield an axe, climb trees, wasn’t bad in the general athletics department. It was decided she could stay. 

Currently, the careers were only gathered around the spear throwing section because Alfred was showing off. That was a big part of being in the careers; being showy and being confident. He took a spear off the rack and threw it with full force at one of the targets. It pierced right through the human-sized dummy, prompting a round of whistling and cheers.

“Not bad, eh?” Alfred smirked, flexing his muscles. Elizabeta felt like grimacing, but instead she grinned back. 

“Brilliant -- here, give me a turn.”

The careers shuffled back to give her space as she took Alfred’s place. Elizabeta took a spear, and gripped it in her hand, then threw it.

It didn’t have the pinpoint accuracy of Alfred, but it wasn’t bad. It pierced the dummy’s stomach shallowly, spilling sand over the floor. She was given a hefty clap on the back from Maximo.

“Not bad -- not bad at all!” He said, pleasantly. 

“It wouldn’t have killed him,” Francis pointed out, smugly, as per usual. “It barely grazed his stomach!”

“Like to see you have a go, asswipe!” Elizabeta threw back, and stepped back. Francis took aim with the spear. He managed to puncture deeply the area just above the heart. Elizabeta made a mental note it wasn’t just bow and arrows he was skilled in. He took a step back, giving her a self-satisfied nod, and Elizabeta rolled her eyes.

“Oh sue me. You wouldn’t have a chance against me if I had an axe in my hand.”

“But you don’t,” he pointed out, making her bristle a bit. Alfred laughed.

“Guys, guys, it’s not a competition -- though if it was I’d win,” he bragged. “Arthur, why don’t you have a go?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, because you know I’m so proficient with a spear.” Nonetheless he stepped up. Another rule about being in the careers is that failing a task was better than having never performed the task at all, in their eyes. 

He was right about not being proficient with a spear; two-third of the way to the dummy the spear lost momentum and hit the ground. There was a roar of laughter than Elizabeta joined in with.

“Nevermind,” Alfred shrugged. Curiously enough, he was the only one not laughing. “Maybe leave the spears to me, huh?”

“Shall we move on?” Arthur asked, a little irritated. “It’s obvious no one here is as good as you.”

“That’s true,” Alfred replied, confidently. 

“What about knives?” Elizabeta suggested, “I could use a little practice with them.”

“Alright then -- knives it is!”

There was already a boy over at the knife section. Not in knife-throwing, rather just basic knife skills as a tool. What was interesting about him, however, was that he had a crippled back. A word called to Elizabeta’s mind: hunchback. She felt a stab of sorrow for the boy. He clearly had no chance in the Games.

“Push off, cripple!” Alfred yelled, giving the boy a hard shove. “We’re here now. Why don’t you go back to the pretty painting area, huh?”

The boy huffed, adjusting his glasses. “Yes, that’s a lovely attitude,” he said, scornfully, before flouncing away. Well, flouncing as best he could with his poor hunched back. Elizabeta watched him go, a little crossly. Alfred shouldn’t have done that. She glanced at the others to see if they were okay with it. Ivan looked a little miffed too -- but he wasn’t doing anything. 

Well if he wouldn’t, she would. Elizabeta marched up to Alfred and snatched the knife out of his hands as he was about to throw. 

“Wha-- hey!” His eyes narrowed. “Give that back.”

“You shouldn’t have done that to the boy,” she told him. Or, rather, snapped at him. Alfred scoffed.

“What? I’m teaching the guy a lesson about being on our turf. If he’d have done that in the Games, he’d be dead!”

“You already know he’s got slim chances in the Games, there’s no reason to bully him outside of it too,” Elizabeta retorted, then threw the knife into one of the targets. She hadn’t particularly been aiming for one of the targets, so it missed by about a mile, and hit the back wall. At least it was a good, solid stick, although the rest of them guffawed at the poor shot.

“Better luck next time,” Yao said, and threw his own knife. Her efforts paled in comparison when he missed the very centre target by about a millimetre. 

Knives came and went quickly -- Elizabeta’s grip being adjusted, and her aim improving considerably while Yao and Natalya hit the shots dead on almost every time. Then they moved onto axe skills. She enjoyed this very much, especially when Francis made an undignified squawking sound when she pretended to aim for him. They all got a laugh out of that one. She beat out even Alfred, and in combat disarmed the man she’d been assigned to fight. 

She couldn’t help but keep feeling guilty about that hunchbacked boy with the glasses though. Elizabeta felt that she should apologise, somehow, but she didn’t know how. Or even why. In the Games she couldn’t exactly say ‘sorry for killing you’ without it feeling insincere. The boy was over at the fire-starting area, and doing a bad job of it. Elizabeta glanced at the careers, then back again.

Well… her mentor had said she needed to build up some survival skills… 

“Hold on guys,” she said, putting away the axe. “I’ve gotta split off for a second. My mentor said I’ve got to do passive skills too.”

Alfred pulled a face. “Eurgh, why?” 

Elizabeta shrugged. “Don’t know, but I don’t wanna say I haven’t to her. I kind of need to stay in favour.”

“Alright, you go off and find some edible bugs then,” Alfred pulled a face. “We’ll be here when you decide you’ve gotten bored of that shit.”

She glared at Alfred, but he’d already looked away, and the pack was re-grouping around him without her. Well, that was fine by her. Elizabeta marched over to fire-starting. It was then she realised she hadn’t quite worked out what to say to the boy, or how to apologise.

The boy looked up when he was in her shadow, and shuffled aside for her. “Sit down. Unless you’re going to bully me away from survival skills too.”

“That wasn’t me,” Elizabeta retorted. Nonetheless she sat down. 

“You didn’t stop him.”

“I told him to cut it out afterwards.”

The boy nodded, and looked down at his bundle of sticks. “I know. I… heard.”

“Then what was the point of saying that?” She asked him. Elizabeta picked up a box of matches and began to strike along the log. Annoyingly, the match didn’t light. 

“I wanted to know what you’d say.”

The boy was odd, she’d give him that. Then again, he’d probably never had many friends growing up. Elizabeta didn’t know about his district -- whatever it was -- but cripples were often jeered at or teased. Parents liked to keep them indoors, as if ashamed. She felt another stab of pity for him. How cruel for life to have thrusted him into the Hunger Games when things were already bad for him. 

“What’s your name?” Elizabeta eventually asked, after successfully lighting a flame.

“Roderich Edelstein.” He adjusted his glasses carefully. “Yours?”

“Elizabeta,” she told him, “I’m from district 7.”

“I thought you must be,” Roderich mused. “I saw you with an axe. You’re quite spectacular with it.”

“Well…” Elizabeta floundered. “You must be good at things too.”

Poor Roderich just shook his head. “Nothing that would benefit me in the Games.”

Elizabeta was silent for a moment, unsure what to say. Then she spoke up again: “Then, what are you good at?”

He paused for a long moment. She could almost see the faraway look in his eye. “... Music,” he eventually said. Elizabeta’s nose wrinkled a bit. Music? Really? 

She didn’t pretend to know a lot about music. She heard the birds sing in the morning, and sometimes the workers would sing a folk song to jivvy themselves along and fill the quota, but other than that, nothing. Vladimir used to sing some weird, creepy songs. It gave her the shivers. After that she decided she didn’t like music very much. It wasn’t like it would help her. Besides, Elizabeta couldn’t sing very well anyway.

“Sophisticated music,” Roderich clarified. “I like classical, with proper instruments. My father bought me a piano, and a violin when I was younger. I expanded from there.”

Oh, he was talking about musical instruments. Elizabeta couldn’t say she’d heard much of them. One homeless man played the lute for pennies. She shrugged in reply.

“I’ve hardly heard musical instruments,” she told him. “I know a few folk songs, that’s about it.”

“Perhaps you should listen to some,” Roderich suggested. “We have everything at our beck and call now. In my room there are these wonderful speakers that can play out any song I like with whatever instruments. It can be wonderfully relaxing.”

She nodded, vaguely. “Maybe I will…”

“My personal favourite is one called Hour Of Old,” Roderich said. “I was learning it on the piano. Well, until…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Elizabeta vaguely wondered how he knew all this about music.

“What district are you from?” She asked.

“Eleven,” he replied. 

Well, that didn’t make any sense at all. Eleven was agriculture -- where there was orchids everywhere. It was a poor district too. Another question lingering on her tongue was, if he was from district 11, how could he talk so… posh?

“How do you know all of this about music then?” She asked aloud, voicing her thoughts. “I’d think you wouldn’t have much time for music there.”

“Oh no.” Roderich looked uneasy. “Most of us usually don’t. But I am the son of the mayor.”

“Oh. Ooh.” It suddenly clicked, and Elizabeta blushed. “S-Sorry, I didn’t--”

“No, it’s quite alright. I consider it a blessing, just as my back is a curse.” Roderich sighed. “You won’t have known about me from the Mayor. My father… prefers to cover my existence up for my being a cripple. I’m homeschooled, and hardly ever go out. Not that I’d want to. I fear people may throw stones at me.”

“That’s horrible!” Elizabeta exclaimed. Roderich shrugged.

“Perhaps. But that’s just how it is.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had been going to say, ‘well you ought to win the Games and show them all!’ but she realised how stupid that sounded. Roderich hadn’t a chance of winning the Games. Both of them knew that.

There was silence for a time, while Elizabeta lit her fire. This time, Roderich was the first to speak.

“What about you? You pretty much know all of my life story now.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I guess. Well… there’s not much to tell. I’m an only child, I’m from district 7, lumber…” Elizabeta paused. There really wasn’t much to tell, was there? 

“Do you have any hobbies?” He asked.

“Not really,” she admitted. “I’m good at PE in school. I’m good at cutting down trees and hacking off branches. But those aren’t things I really enjoy. I enjoy…” Elizabeta paused again. “Hanging out with my friends. Running. And…” Her mouth twitched in a smile. “You’ll hate me for saying that.”

“What?” Roderich persisted.

“... Throwing stones at this one kid I hate,” she admitted. “But not because he looks weird or anything! It’s because he’s an asshole. He keeps mocking me and my friends, and throwing things down from trees to land on people’s head.”

Roderich rolled his eyes. “It sounds like we’re complete opposites. You have friends and can run and bully people. I have no friends, haven’t one athletic bone in my body, and get bullied.”

“I don’t bully him!” Elizabeta defended. “I give him his comeuppance.”

“Sure. What’s his name?”

She suddenly bit her lip, contemplating on whether or not to say it. “Uh… he’s my district partner.”

Surprise reflected back on Roderich’s face. “Oh!”

“Yeah, just my luck, I know,” Elizabeta groaned. Roderich shrugged.

“Perhaps it will make him easier to kill.”

“... Maybe…” 

“Well, odds are someone else will kill him before you do,” he shrugged back. 

“So, um…” she looked around hastily, for a change of topic. “Do you -- um -- have a token?”

Roderich blinked at this sudden change, but then he nodded. “I do, as a matter of fact. It’s in my room right now -- but I have a little pin of a mockingjay. My mother gave it to me. It used to be a close possession of hers.”

Elizabeta nodded. “I have a carved symbol of the moon,” she said. “It’s… not very well carved, to be honest, but my father made it for me. I’ve had it for years and hardly ever worn it.”

“I suppose most of your possessions are carved?” Roderich asked, raising his eyebrows. Elizabeta laughed and nodded.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

They didn’t have time to pursue the topic of conversation further, because at that moment Ralph came bounding in, announcing the lunch room was open. Elizabeta saw the careers stood up and bustle in immediately to take the best seats -- like they couldn’t muscle anyone else out anyway. She sighed and stood up.

“Sorry -- I think I’d better go and join them,” she gestured to the Careers. Roderich looked a little disappointed, adding to her guilt. “It was nice talking to you though.”

“Yes, you too,” he replied, in a defeated tone.

Elizabeta walked away before she made it any worse. She joined the careers back at the table, but she was barely paying attention to whatever drivel they were on about. Probably more showing off. She couldn’t even care when an argument broke out on their table, and the huge man from 12 left. She wanted to go back and talk to Roderich again, but to sit on a table with him would mean getting kicked out of the careers. Luckily they didn’t seem to notice her being with him for the past hour, so caught up in their own heads. 

No, no! She was getting attached! And to such a frail man as well! Elizabeta shook her head fiercely. She had better steer clear of stations with Roderich in them, even if she was guilt-ridden about it. She’d learn a few more passive skills and then go back to the careers. She’d join their group, go into the Games and apply those skills to win. There would be absolutely no getting attached to anyone. Not Roderich, not Vladimir, not anyone. Not when they were all going to be sent to a bloodbath where it was kill or be killed. From now on she would have to focus on her primary objective; winning the Hunger Games. 

Easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Okay... this was actually really fun to write. I wanted to add a lot more but I was running short for time and the chapter is already long. I also had to go back and tweak things a lot, this chapter definitely isn't perfect, as much as it was fun to write. Also -- yes, there is a reason why Vladimir has two names. 
> 
> For those of you that missed it:
> 
> Michelle -- Seychelles
> 
> Any kudos, comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, I'll hopefully see you in the next chapter!!


	8. District 8: Zwingli and Zwingli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know you have rotten luck when both you and your sister are reaped for the Games.

Basch was furious about how these Hunger Games had turned out. In fact he would almost say they were rigged, if he knew the world cared enough about he and his little sister. Apparently now it cared little enough to let them get thrust into a bloodbath. How dare they both get reaped into the Games! No -- how dare they allow such a sweet, innocent girl into the Games! Lili didn’t belong here. She didn’t deserve this. For both of them, it was almost certain death. 

He just wished he had the chance to volunteer for her instead. He wished this with all the bitterness that was in his heart.

Instead of stew, which had been served on the first day of training to go and collect, every table had a fancy tiered sandwich stand, filled with, predictably, sandwiches, wraps, buns, and tarts, with pieces of fruit dotted about in between. Lili gave a little gasp when she entered the lunch room, and grabbed his hand.

“It’s like little fairy food!” She exclaimed, excitedly.

Basch let her lead him over to a table. Lili took a long time deliberating over each one, as they all contained different types of sandwiches and buns. Funnily enough, in a moment of what Basch thought of as fondness for Lili, no one that weren’t the careers chose a table until she’d chosen. She sat him down in front of tiers that contained delicate, white-bread sandwiches with the crusts cut off, that featured different types of jams inside. The next tier contained wraps stuffed with chicken, lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese. The last tier contained iced buns, topped with hundred and thousands. Dotted between the first and last tier were little strawberries. Lili immediately reached out for two sandwiches, and gave one to him.

“Here, try one big brother!” She said, smiling happily. Basch took an obliging bite. “What does it taste like?”

“I think… it tastes like a sandwich,” he replied, shortly. Lili laughed.

“No no -- what kind of filling?” She corrected, and peered at her own, honey-coloured filling. “I think mine is marmalade!”

“Blackberry,” Basch told him. “Now hush -- be quiet and eat your food.”

He hoped nobody would sit at a table with them. No such luck. Ten minutes later, a man slid into the seat opposite he and Lili, smiling sheepishly.

“I -- sorry. There are no other tables,” he explained. Basch looked around. Sure enough, there weren’t any. Not as far as he could see. District 9 were sitting together, district 10 had a table, and district 3 had a table, with, curiously enough, a career boy from 2. The three containing the boy as young as Lili had also claimed a table. Not to mention the career pack took up a vast amount of room, while the rest were dotted about like lost sheep.

“That’s fine,” Basch replied, dismissively. The man nodded. Basch had seen him around -- usually in the knife sector until the careers came over. He looked sickly pale, with dark blond hair as long as his. 

“I’m Lili!” Lili said, sweetly, and smiled in his direction. “Nice to meet you!”

“I’m Vladimir,” he replied, smiling back. “You know, I have a younger brother who’s a bit like you. You… remind me of him.”

“I do?” She asked, excitedly. “What’s his name?”

“Aurel.”

“Aur-el,” Lili said, as if trying it out on her tongue. “How old is he?”

Vladimir blew out a breath. “... Seven. And a half.” He suddenly looked from Lili to Basch. “Are you two…?”

“Yes, we’re siblings,” Basch said, beginning to get irritated with this. “And I would have volunteered for her if I hadn’t already been chosen. I’m not a coward.”

“I would have done the same,” Vladimir agreed. “Except by the time my Aurel would be old enough to be in the reaping, well, it’d be too late for me to volunteer.”

“Big Brother’s going to protect me in the arena!” Lili announced, proudly. Vladimir’s eyebrows shot up.

“Is he?”

Basch knew that look. He doubted he would win with that strategy too. “Well, what else would you expect me to do? I won’t just leave her.”

Vladimir shook his head. “I wouldn’t either.”

There was silence for a time as they all began to deplete the amount of food on the stand. Lili took a bun after a while, with yellow icing on the top. When she bit into it, she found that the middle had been filled with sharp lemon curd. 

“Capitol food is the best, isn’t it?” She sighed happily. “Back in my district, we only really had tinned food.”

Vladimir nodded slowly. “... You’re both from 8 right? That’s textiles?”

Lili nodded. “Oh yes. I work making Peacekeeper clothes, which is boring. Some people I know make Capitol clothes. They’re so lucky! They get to work with silk, and velvet, and do embroidery!”

“You like sewing then?”

“Yes -- but not Peacekeeper clothes. Over and over.”

“I suppose that would get boring,” Vladimir agreed. “They’re all plain and white. … I don’t actually see a lot of Peacekeepers.”

“You don’t?” Lili asked, surprised. Vladimir shrugged.

“I live in District 7. They guard the trees at night to make sure there’s no unauthorised entry. And they make sure we’ve filled the daily quota, and drive the logs to wherever they go for carving. But I don’t tend to go near them. I don’t… exactly work.”

“Are you meant to?” Basch asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“Well…” He looked a little sheepish. “Kids are meant to help out after school. Especially if the quota’s gone up a bit. But I never really joined in. I just wandered around town with my brother or pulled pranks on people for fun. It was alright.”

“Sounds like fun!” Lili said, enthusiastically. “You’re surrounded by so many trees! I don’t think I’ve even seen a tree up close. Our district is full of factories and smog and smoke. Not much fun.”

“Peacekeepers?”

“What do you mean?”

“How many Peacekeepers are there around?”

Lili shrugged. “Oh -- quite a few. I see them guarding around the factories. It’s scary walking past them with their big guns.” She shivered.

Basch had to admit it was a little interesting to hear about life in other districts. Things the Capitol kept away, as to better turn them into strange, alien rivals to fight for their own amusement. That thought made him scowl.

“Now there’s a nice face!” Vladimir said, jokingly. “Careful the wind doesn’t change direction!”

That made Basch scowl harder. “That’s a myth.”

“Myths are based off truth!”

“How could that possibly be a truth?” He scoffed. Basch was about to tell Lili it was time to leave, and had half risen in his seat, when an explosion seemed to take place over on the career’s table.

Two of them were standing up, facing off with each other from opposite ends of the table. One was the glasses boy from 2, the one who, from Basch’s knowledge, had declared himself the leader. The other was the pink-scarf boy from 12. He’d remained quiet up until this point. It was odd. Looking around, Basch could see everyone else was looking at the career table.

“Are you telling me what to do, 12?” Glasses-boy sneered, eyeing pink-scarf up and down. It just occured to him Basch hadn’t bothered to get to know any of the careers. “Because I wouldn’t advise that.”

“Alfred, sit down,” another boy with bushy eyebrows warned. Alfred banged his fists on the table.

“I won’t! I can see him looking down on me like some scum!”

“Well you’re acting a lot like it,” pink-scarf replied, and a gasp rippled throughout the room. Glasses-boy -- Alfred -- drew up short. Then he marched around the table to get right in pink-scarf’s face. Well, he wasn’t quite as tall as pink-scarf, so it wasn’t so much nose-to-nose as it was nose-to-chin.

“Say that again,” Alfred dared.

“I said,” pink-scarf said, slowly, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re acting like scum.”

“Oh that’s it!”

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on here?!” A thick, Capitol-accent sliced through the air. Basch saw Ralph appear through the door, hurry down the lunch room, and muscle right in between Alfred and pink-scarf. “No fighting each other!”

“I just want one swing!” Alfred said, furiously. “Just to give him a taste of what I’m made of, go on!”

Pink-scarf didn’t move, but Alfred was attempting to push aside Ralph. Unfortunately it was clear Ralph had had experience with careers throwing tantrums because in one swift move he had Alfred in a firm hold. 

“No fighting. You can take it all out on each other in the arena!” He barked, firmly. Alfred struggled and managed to break himself free of his grip and turn around to face Ralph, but this time he, wisely, didn’t try to push past him again. Alfred sneered.

“Yeah -- you hear that Ivan? I’ll be coming for ya in the arena.”

“Not if I come for you first,” Ivan replied. Then he turned and exited the lunch room, back into the gymnasium. Alfred sat down too. After a moment, the room filled back up with talk and less tension. Though Basch could still see Alfred stewing away on the career table. That was one he’d have to avoid in the arena. 

Vladimir gave a low whistle. “Christ,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t want to be in between those two!”

“I don’t want to fight either of them,” Lili shivered. “They’re scary.”

“Well, hopefully they’ll finish each other off,” Vladimir told her, taking a sandwich off the stand. “Or they’ll get killed by some mutt.”

Lili looked down at her sandwich, but didn’t take a bite, as if lost her appetite. Basch wanted to leave still, but Ivan was the only one in the gymnasium now, and somehow he didn’t want to be alone in there with him. So he waited.

There wasn’t a lot of talk between them as the lunch hour passed. A few others filtered out, and then the noisy career pack did too, this time minus Ivan. Basch decided to take another go at spear-throwing, as the careers weren’t currently occupying it. In fact the only person there was a man from 10, with black hair. He wasn’t too bad at spear-throwing, but his spears had a habit of losing momentum mid-throw. 

“Hey,” the boy said.

“Hey,” Basch replied. There was no talk after that. It wasn’t needed. No one wanted to get to know any others, because shortly they would witness them all die. Basch already regretted leaving Lili to her own devices in the survival-skills sections. The girl was friendly, and talkative. Yesterday she’d made friends with a timid man with no hope of winning the Games, although he was nice enough. She had begun to get to know Vladimir, and when he died Basch knew she’d be thinking of his little brother she barely knew. And now, she was talking idly with the girls from 9, who were helping her tie some knots. They’d die. Lili would be distraught. She just couldn’t understand the Hunger Games weren’t a place you went to make friends, eat good food, and dress up in nice clothes. It was a bloodbath. An arena. Couldn’t she see that?!

Basch threw his spear with all his might at the practice dummy. It pierced the heart directly, showering sand onto the floor as the spear went right through it. The boy from 10 took a hasty step back.

“... You’re good,” he complimented. Basch shrugged.

“As good as you.”

“No.” The boy shook his head. “Mine keep losing momentum look.”

He threw the spear, but it clattered to the ground at the halfway mark. Basch shrugged. He didn’t bother to tell the boy his grip had been all wrong, that would make for a less powerful shot. What use would be telling him how to kill him in the Games?

“You’ll get there,” was all Basch said.

Why couldn’t Lili be like this? Keep conversation to a minimum. Don’t find out names, don’t get to know them. It would only be upsetting later. ‘Neutral’ was apparently not a word in her vocabulary.

Tomorrow afternoon was the day they performed for the Gamemakers. They’d decide their score, and that would heavily influence the amount of sponsors they got. It was unlikely anyone would sponsor him or Lili so he needed a good score quite badly. Lili was cute and people liked her -- but they’d wouldn’t be betting her to win. Basch knew he was a little more promising, but he’d be the first to admit his personality was lacking just a bit. The interviews wouldn’t do much for him. So it was all on the training score. He needed to get as much practice in as possible before then.

After spear-throwing, Basch had a go with an axe. He wasn’t any match for the girl from 7, but he was decent. Decent enough to scrape through a battle if it was all he had. Then he went for hand-to-hand combat. But the best thing, he found, that he was good at, was a bow and arrow.

Basch didn’t know where the talent had come from. He’d never picked up neither a bow nor a quiver of arrows before, but he found it was quite easy. His instructor certainly seemed impressed.

“I’ve never seen a rookie take it up quite so quickly,” she told him. Basch decided to take that as a compliment.

After that he stuck to mostly long-range weapons. Throwing knives, crossbows, even back to spears. He was good with them, but never quite so good with a bow and arrow. That was it. That would be what he showed off to the Gamemakers. He could get at least a six or seven with this. It was better than the four he would have inevitably gotten before. 

At five o’clock, training ended. Basch found Lili in the shelter-building with a funny, hunchbacked boy from 11. He ignored him completely. 

“Come on Lili,” he said. “We’d better go.”

Lili stood up, dropping the pile of stones she had. She waved at the boy from 11. “Bye Roderich,” she called. When they began walking away, she turned to him and smiled. “Roderich is nice. He looks a bit funny but he’s nice.”

“Don’t get attached. You know what’s going to happen to him,” Basch replied, harsher than he intended. Lili drooped, but still, he couldn’t take it back now. And that didn’t mean his words were any less true.

They stepped into the lift and watched the gymnasium shrink below them as they headed back to their floor. Tomorrow was the one-to-one session with the Gamemakers. Basch had a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! This unlucky pair I was sort of debating on whether both of them should be in the Games or not, but I eventually decided 'oh screw it' and they went in. Now if only Lili could concentrate instead of playing...
> 
> For those of you that missed it:
> 
> Aurel -- Moldova 
> 
> Any kudos, comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, I'll hopefully see you all in the next chapter!!


	9. District 9: Braginskya and Maes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally time to see the Gamemakers. Katyusha couldn't be more terrified.

Katyusha had no idea what she was going to do.

This fact frightened her. She was to see the Gamemakers this afternoon, and she had no idea what she was to do for them. Katyusha had found she could tie knots expertly well. So what? The Gamemakers weren’t going to be pleased with that. But she was no good with any sort of weapon she picked up. She wasn’t particularly talented with building shelter, using knives to cut wood, or camouflaging herself. She couldn’t even run fast. Katyusha couldn’t be less qualified for the Games if she tried. The fact was, the tiny tots from district 8 or 11 would outlast her in the Games. 

Laura, her district partner, was in the same boat. Neither of them had done anything more than harvest grain their whole lives, and what skills were they supposed to get out of that? Laura was nice enough as it goes, with soft auburn hair, green eyes and a preference for Capital chocolate. She told Katyusha she had an older and younger brother back home. Katyusha couldn’t even talk about home without going into floods of tears. 

Home. Warm, sweet home. Where her mother, father, sister and brother were. It would be all hands on deck at home as they struggled to harvest the tesserae for the other districts this time of year. Her older brother did well. He was strong and capable. She and her sister less well, although her sister was looking to go into the granaries. Katyusha was the middle child. Not particularly talented but she never minded it. She had friends and a family she loved. 

Thinking about home made tears come into her eyes. Katyusha blinked them away, and finished making the twitch-up snare. Snares were just about the only thing related to knots, and even then the twitch-up snare looked slightly off. She’d probably done it wrong. The Gamemakers were going to be less that pleased with her. She’d be lucky to score a three. 

“You forgot to tie the loop,” Laura said, comfortingly. She leaned over, and re-tied the knot for her. Katyusha looked up.

“Thanks. I’ve almost got it.”

The gesture made her want to burst into tears all over again. She couldn’t even outdo her own district partner. How was she supposed to kill a thirty-kilo career?

Laura gave a smile and sat down next to her. “But it was very good.”

“Not good enough,” Katyusha gave a watery smile. “I’m not going to kill a career with a knot.”

“But you might with a snare,” she reminded her. “... Though, let’s face it, neither of us have a chance really.”

“I know,” Katyusha mumbled, and looked out across the gymnasium. The careers had an obvious advantage of being well-fed and well-equipped. District 3 could blow things up. District 7 had the advantage of being able to wield an axe. District 11 could climb trees like it was nobody’s business. And District 12 could use a pickaxe. Her own District had nothing, no skills, other than picking grain. She supposed she could find the right type of grain and make something out of it for food, but those chances were slim. And there was still no way she could fight, the entire premise of the Games. 

“The whole thing is rigged against us,” she murmured, as it dawned on her. Not District 9. All of them. The Capital set them all up against each other, and there was no way for anyone to truly win. Not really. There would be a victor -- but the true winner was the Capitol. Every time.

“I know,” Laura replied, sighing. “But what can the two of us do? What can any of us do really?”

Nothing. That was what. And the Capitol made that expressly clear. They took children from each district and made them fight to the death and they could do nothing about it. To make it worse they made them celebrate it. Made it into a festivity while families weeped for their lost ones. Kept the memory fresh by having a recap tour every half-year. Then July would roll around again, and the whole thing would be repeated. Again and again. Over and over. To remind them all who was really in power. 

“... What do you think you’re going to do for the Gamemakers this afternoon?” Katyusha suddenly asked, as a quick change of topic. Talking was hard to do here when everything to talk about stung. “I think I’ll just do a few snares. I might get something good for that.”

“Oh, probably snares as well,” Laura told her. “Or… I might have a go at the knives. But… ha…”

Katyusha looked over at the knife station. The careers were there. Obviously, they couldn’t go over just yet. But they were running out of time before they performed for the Gamemakers.

She still couldn’t believe she was going to be fighting all these people. In a few days over half of these faces would be projected into the sky in the arena. Careers might turn on careers. Not that she thought she would be around to see this. No, she knew she’d be dead in a day. Maybe even less. Maybe even at the Cornucopia. And her family back home would watch her get slaughtered knowing she never really had a chance of making it home.

Still, perhaps there was hope. Perhaps if the Gamemakers liked her enough they’d keep her alive. Perhaps if she made a few allies… but it was far too late for that. The best she could do now was get a good training score. Then, at the interviews, make it seem like she was a person worth rooting for. 

Oh, who was she kidding? No one would root for her. 

Katyusha had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hardly noticed when a boy approached them in the snare section. He wasn’t quite her height, although he looked a bit older, with a pale face and black hair. Katyusha vaguely remembered that he was from District 10, Livestock -- although that was just about all she could recollect about him. 

“Hey,” he began, nervously. “May I join you?”

Katyusha blinked. “Oh, um -- sure. You know--” she gave a small laugh. “Not many people ask.” 

“Well… I thought I might,” the boy replied, awkwardly. 

“Not many people would,” Laura said. “They usually just ignore us. We’re going to learn to make a self-locking snare. You could join if you like.”

“Thank you,” the boy replied, relieved. Then he paused, and held out his hand to shake. “I’m Nikola.”

“Katyusha,” Katyusha said, taking his hand.

“And I’m Laura,” Laura added. “Come on then. We’d better get started if we want these Gamemakers to take any notice of us.”

Nikola gave a wry smile. “So you also think you have no hope?”

“Oh I don’t think so,” she replied, with a small sigh. Then, Laura retrieved a couple of loops of wire from the bucket. Nikola and Katyusha did the same. 

“What’s a self-locking snare?” Nikola then asked.

“It’s a type of snare for animals,” Katyusha explained. “It gets caught in the loop around its neck, and the more they struggle the tighter the loop gets, until it strangles them.”

“Course, it won’t be much good on a career,” Laura sighed. “They’d be able to cut themselves free with their swords.”

They looked over. Sure enough, all of the career tributes were at the sword station. Alfred from 2 seemed particularly good with this. He seemed particularly good with everything. Against him, their skills paled in comparison.

“Well… it’d get us a meal, at any rate,” Nikola said, although his tone was a little flat.

The conversation felt all wrong to Katyusha. It was too awkward and too painful. Of course, talking about anything was painful. Couldn’t talk about the past, the present wasn’t much better, and the future was unbearable. Talking about districts could bring up painful happy memories. Talking about what they were doing only reminded them of the threat looming up ahead. That limited things considerably.

“You two are from the same district, right?” Nikola suddenly asked, when they’d almost finished perfecting their first go at the self-locking snare. “9?”

Katyusha nodded. “Yep! That’s grain. I used to help pick it.”

“And I worked in a granary,” Laura added. “What about you?”

“10. Livestock,” Nikola sighed. “I looked after the horses.”

“You had horses?” Katyusha asked, with a smile. She’d seen horses and donkeys before -- strong creatures that pulled the plows. “I loves horses!”

“We slaughtered them for the horsemeat,” he replied, flatly. “I couldn’t really get to know any of them.”

“Ohh…” Katyusha deflated. “The Capitol like horsemeat then?”

Nikola shrugged. “Enough of them do.” Then, he chuckled. “Sorry, that was a bit of a downer. We also have cows. We use them for milk and making cheese.”

“Was your family well-off?” Laura asked.

“Not really,” he admitted. “But we do okay. What about you then?”

“I pick the grain,” Katyusha said. “With my siblings and parents. We use horses to plow and sew the seeds. Although this time of year we’re usually busy picking to get all the tesserae to the districts.”

“Ah,” Nikola nodded. “I see. Makes sense. I put in my name extra times for tesserae this year.” He laughed bitterly. “Big mistake.”

“My family wouldn’t let me,” Katyusha told him. “Otherwise I would have. We’re… poor.”

“I put my name in extra times,” Laura muttered. “I’m poor too.”

“The Games are rigged against us.”

“Oh -- I wouldn’t say that,” Nikola said, unexpectedly. “I’d think you’d know how to grow grain in the arena. One time a section of it was huge cornfields. Your district won that time.”

“No, I mean--” she laughed. “Against all of us. None of us ever win, not -- not really.”

“They do.” Nikola nodded his head over towards the careers, who had now moved on to wrestling. The big, beefy one from 4 -- Maximo -- seemed particularly good at this. “They’re trained for this. They’re proud of winning.”

“It’s the Capitol’s fault,” Katyusha insisted. “They set us against one another.”

“I suppose,” Nikola replied, flatly. “But the only reason we don’t just not fight in the arena is because of those. Otherwise I feel like we’d have all protested years ago.”

“I feel like it’s more complicated than that,” she said, but didn’t pursue it any further. There was no point arguing. Besides -- he had a point. The careers were well-fed, groomed by the Capitol, and ready to fight. The poorer districts weren’t. If it was only the poor going in -- well, they probably wouldn’t fight at all.

“It’s the Gamemaker’s stupid fault,” Laura muttered, darkly. “And in a few hours we’ve got to hop around for them like a bunch of trained monkeys. Just to get good sponsors.”

“You think you’ll get good sponsors then?”

Laura laughed. “Hell no. But if I don’t do anything at all I’ll get a zero.”

“I think I’d get a zero either way,” Katyusha mourned, as her snare collapsed the moment her hands left it. She sighed. “I’ve got no skills.”

“Well… not no skills…” Laura said. “But we’re no careers.”

“Careers don’t win every year,” Nikola reminded them. “Hopefully it’ll be one of us this time.”

They were talking about the future again. Katyusha could feel her chest tighten at the mention of Gamemakers and Careers. She decided to change the subject.

“Want to sit with us at lunch?” She suddenly asked Nikola. “We don’t have anyone else. You can stay, at least until we get called out.”

He blinked. “Oh, um… alright. Thanks.” Nikola rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been sitting with my district partner and… he scares me.”

“Who is it?” Laura asked. In reply, Nikola nodded over to a man at sword fighting. He was tall, as tall as the boy from 12, and like the boy from 12 also had a scarf. Except this one was blue and white striped. “Ah. I see what you mean.”

“The careers haven’t touched him for some reason though,” he suddenly said. “I wonder why. He must have said something to them.”

“Say something wrong to Alfred and you’re dead,” Katyusha shuddered. “I’ve been avoiding him.”

“So have I,” Nikola agreed, sheepishly. “So I’ll gladly sit with you two, thank you.”

Conversation was… easier, after that, but still not simple. There were times when they were silent, struggling to find topic of conversation. Katyusha found herself talking about more and more childish things -- like favourite colours, or favourite animals, or favourite foods. They could all agree that Capitol food was certainly the best food.

And then, at the lunch hour, Ralph bounded in to announce that the dining room was open.

“But don’t go back in,” he warned. “Once you’re done with lunch, you’ll be called in one by one, district by district, to see what you can do for the Gamemakers. They’ll decide your score later tonight. Now, go on!”

The three of them waited a bit, for the rowdy careers to go in and take their seats. It was a stew again, like they had on day one -- but a different kind. Some kind of fish stew, that had thick orange sauce and prawns, and some kind of delicious herb scattered on top. Despite the food being definitely up to Capitol standard, Katyusha was struggling to eat it. She felt suddenly sick with nerves. What could she possibly do for the Gamemakers in comparison to the careers? She couldn’t even do her snares right half the time! Now, with all this pressure on her, Katyusha was sure she was going to fail.

Conversation had dried out, not just on their table, on everyone’s it seemed. The lunch hour whizzed by at a stupidly fast pace, and soon, the first boy was being called.

“District 1, Francis Bonnefoy!”

A boy from the careers stood up, and made his way to the doors confidently. As he strutted past Katyusha, she couldn’t help but wish she had his confidence. Or his skill. Or his district. She was in District 9 -- one of the last to be called. Katyusha just wanted to get it over with.

Slowly, little by little, one by one, the tributes were called through. The careers went, leaving only the nervous, the scared, the untalented, and the air was stagnant with tension. Then, they called her name, before Nikola’s and even Laura’s.

“I guess that’s me.” She took a deep breath before standing up. “See you on the other side.”

“Good luck,” Nikola said, politely. Laura said nothing, but she gave a quick smile and a nod. Her face was pale. She was next. 

Katyusha took stiff steps towards the door, and back into the Gymnasium. It was time to impress these Gamemakers. She could only hope to get a good training score.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! So I had the brilliant idea of putting two characters hardly anyone knows about in the same district... This was difficult to write but I think I managed to make it entertaining enough. 
> 
> For those of you that missed it:
> 
> Laura -- Belgium  
> Nikola -- Bulgaria
> 
> Any kudos, comments, or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, I'll hopefully see you in the next chapter!!


	10. District 10: Dimitrov and Abelsson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to perform for the Gamemakers. Nikola can only pray they're leniant with the scores.

Nikola watched Katyusha go out with an air of gloom. After Laura, he would probably be next. Then he would walk stiffly out, close the doors behind him and… what? What would he do? Nothing that could impress the Gamemakers, that was for damn sure. He glanced over at Laura. She was looking as shaky as he felt. 

Katyusha was a short time in there before they were calling in Laura. This time Nikola could only give her a smile that she could not return. He didn’t trust himself to use his voice for fear it might come out all squeaky, and that wouldn’t be earning himself any points. Especially not when the room was still full of a few tributes. Granted, tributes like himself, untalented nothings that didn’t stand a chance… except maybe the two from District 12. The brunet one looked calm and capable, although grave. Ivan was smiling. He clearly felt he had something to offer the Gamemakers. Or maybe that was his usual face. It was hard to tell.

He swirled his fish stew around unenthusiastically. There was still a lot left, but it had gone cold by now. He hadn’t much of an appetite anyway, too nervous thinking about those Gamemakers who, arguably, controlled how many sponsors he got. Therefore deciding who lived and who died. Nikola knew he was decent with a spear. He was better at snares. He’d taken a few rounds with basic knife skills and hand-to-hand combat too. Sure, it was nothing against a career, but perhaps it gave him a bit of a chance. A bit more than if he hadn’t trained at all for this. Nikola hadn’t bothered getting himself allies. Hadn’t bothered talking anything more than polite conversation. Katyusha and Laura were the most time he’d spent with another district. He didn’t want to get… attached.

“Nikola Dimitrov!”

And that was him! That was his name! Nikola stood slowly, and stiffly made his way to the doors. At least he was going before his district partner, before his nerves could ramp up so much he couldn’t stand. But the moment he pushed open those doors something was wrong.

The Gamemakers were all in a little box in the wall, to watch the tributes perform for them, but it was immediately evident to Nikola that this was not what they were doing. They’d been here too long, gotten bored, had too much wine at their banquet table. A few were still sitting, watching Nikola, however most were getting bored with the demonstrations. They’d already had their favourites pass through; the careers, and a few more. They’d probably stopped paying attention at District 7. If he wanted to wow these Gamemakers, he’d have to have something ridiculously good up his sleeve to make them pay attention. And he didn’t.

In those few moments Nikola had stood there, staring at the Gamemakers in mild disgust and annoyance, the few that had been paying attention to him lost focus. They turned back to their roast ox, or whatever it was, pouring the champagne like it was Christmas. Nikola decided to start at the spear-throwing and work around. 

He picked up the spear that was the most familiar to him and put the head on it. Then he took aim at the dummy. Nikola had been aiming for the heart, but it skewered through the stomach instead. Hopefully they thought that was on purpose. He took a deep breath. Try again.

He threw again and again at the dummies until he pretty much had the spear shot right where he wanted it. Nikola looked at the Gamemakers for approval. Only half were looking at him, some frowning, some nodding. The other half was carving up that roast ox. He set his jaw, willing himself not to lose his temper. Snares. That was next. 

Tossing the spear in his hand down, he stalked over to the snares section. People had been there already, so there was hardly any wire left. Nikola made do with what he had. He tried the self-locking snare, the twitch-up snare, and anything else he could even vaguely remember. Using nets, wire, string, anything. It was excellent work, Nikola knew it, and he was sure there wasn’t a fault to a single snare he’d set. He looked up at the Gamemakers. Now even less were watching him. 

Oh if he could only catch one of these Gamemakers in his snares. He was being sent to his death, the least they could do was have the decency to watch! Nikola could feel himself biting his cheeks in annoyance. Maybe he wasn’t a career but he still deserved some respect!

Nikola had been planning to go over to the knife-station next, but one of them was stepping up to the edge.

“You may go now, District 10.”

Not even a name. He was just ‘District 10’ to them. Nikola hated these Gamemakers. He stalked out of the gymnasium and into the lift, hitting the button so hard he might well have broken the thing. Then he shot up into the air, far, far away from these Gamemakers, but not far enough. There was the roof of the Training Centre, but somehow he felt that wasn’t allowed. Nikola was tempted to go anyway, but the moment he shot up to his floor, his mentor and District 10 escort was there to greet him. 

His mentor was barely his age, a man called Zack, and had won the Hunger Games just a couple of years ago at thirteen. It was mostly because of a flood that pretty much wiped everyone out. He was quite laid back and relaxed, although carried a bit of a nervous tick at times. He was known for looking after sheep, even though he needn’t, since he lived in the Victor’s Village. His escort was another man called Arman, who was very self-assured and carefree. He didn’t look too bad for a man of the Capitol; his hair was normal, and he had no noticeable makeup. But his clothes tended to be brightly coloured, and clashed a lot with each other in a way that made his eyes hurt, even if he didn’t know a lot about fashion. Both of them turned to face him now from the living room.

“Well?” Arman asked. “How did it go?”

Nikola pinched the bridge of his nose, and then stepped out of the lift. “Terrible,” he admitted. “By the time I got in half of them had lost interest. They were eating a roast ox or something.”

“It could have been worse,” Zack said, reasonably. “I suppose you’re lucky to have at least half of their attention. They usually stop paying attention at District 6.”

“Why?!” Nikola burst out. “We’re being sent to our deaths -- the least they could do is have the decency to pay attention!”

Arman didn’t say anything, being very Gamemaker-loyal, but he pursed his lips shut. Nikola took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

“I set a few snares and threw some spears. I was decent at it too, I thought I was going to do a lot worse,” he said. “Govert is doing his now.”

Zack nodded, absorbing the information. “Well, it could be worse,” he said again. “It’s almost dinner time. You should get ready -- and we’ll watch the scores after dinner, how about that?”

This time it was Nikola’s turn to purse his lips shut, and nod. He stalked to his room where he slammed the door angrily, then threw himself down on the silken sheets. The least Zack or Arman could have done was have a little sympathy! Not just send him to his room! He felt like screaming but that would probably be childish. Instead he let his anger run through him wearing him out, and watching the sun set over the Capitol. The red and pink hues from the sky set a pretty orange glow around his room through the glass. Nikola knew he should probably wash and change but he’d worn himself out. By the time he’d worked through anger, frustration, depression and homesickness, it was time for dinner. He got up from where he’d slid onto the floor, unable to feel anything at all. 

It was probably a good thing too, because Nikola felt sure he’d be jealous of Govert. He’d seen Govert at training. He was big, strong, capable. Refused the careers, but he could probably go it on his own. But Nikola felt too tired to be jealous of Govert at this stage. He sat at the dinner table, in between Zack and Arman, and began to eat. 

They were talking idly about something or other. Or -- well -- Arman was anyway, while Zack mostly listened. Govert was as silent as he but that wasn’t anything special. In fact, Nikola was the one that usually indulged in polite but petty conversation about nothing of any significance. Now he just didn’t have the energy. He could barely have the energy to eat -- pork chops, with cherry tomatoes and cannellini beans, served with mashed potatoes and some kind of apple sauce on the side. Nikola was playing with his food more than eating it. Not that anyone noticed much. 

“Okay, so moving onto what happened today,” Zack finally said, with a touch of hesitancy in his tone. “Nik, I know what you’ve done, but what about you Govert?”

“Spear throwing,” he replied, staring down at his plate. “A bit of hand-to-hand. No one was paying much attention, really.”

“No one was looking at me, either,” Nikola told him. That made him feel a little better. That maybe if the Gamemakers hadn’t been paying attention enough, they wouldn’t see how good Govert really was. Maybe he’d be on equal terms with him in scores. 

“Your scores are going to be televised tonight,” Zack told him, like they didn’t already know. “I think you’ll both do okay. Besides -- scores only really matter if they’re good. No one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones.”

“Anyway,” Arman added. “You can still win with a low score!”

Sometimes. On very, very rare occasions, when the tributes didn’t really need any help from sponsorships. Nikola looked down at his meal. “Right.”

He knew they were only trying to cheer him up but it wasn’t working very well. If he only got a mediocre score, and no one paid attention to that, then the amount of sponsors he’d get would decrease. He needed all the help he could get since he had no allies. After all, Nikola had no idea what arena he’d be thrown into. 

He sulked all throughout desert as well -- a sherry trifle. Nikola only ate about a spoonful then pushed it away. Then, they all stood up and trooped into the living room, where they’ll announce the scores on television. First, they show a photo of the tribute, then flash up their score. The tributes mostly get into the eight-to-ten range. Others average about a five. They showed District 1 first -- Francis Bonneyfoy, eight. Natalya Arlovska, seven. Ludwig Belischmidt, ten. Alfred Jones, ten. 

He sat through twenty tribute scores, with very little sticking in his head, before it was his turn. A boy with round glasses from 6 got three, the lowest score yet. The girl from 7 managed a nine. The two girls from District 9, Katyusha and Laura -- both five. Then they were showing his face, and his score: six. 

Six?!

That was all he got?! Nikola felt he deserved at least an eight. Those snares hadn’t a fault to them, he was sure of it -- and once he warmed up with a spear he could shoot just fine! That just proved they weren’t paying attention. But Nikola could only feel more indignant when they flashed Govert’s score. Eight.

His heart sank. Great. Now he really was in trouble. His district partner had outshone him by far, no one was going to pay attention to him. Zack would direct all the sponsors to Zack and -- and --

He was going to die. 

“I’m going to bed,” Nikola said, thickly, and stood up from the couch. Arman made a move to stop him but Zack put a hand on his knee. Nikola was grateful. He marched off to his room and managed to get under the covers that he’d tossed off the bed before. Then he began to cry. 

It made himself feel weak, crying like this. What would his family say if they knew their only son was snivelling under the covers like this, instead of facing his future? But, oh what did it matter? If the Hunger Games wasn’t something to cry about, what was? 

The sun had now set over the horizon, plunging his bedroom into darkness. The day after tomorrow would be the interviews. That was when the Capitol, for the first time, really got to know the personalities of the tributes. It was absolutely sickening. They had to smile and wave and act for these people sending them to their deaths, and they could do nothing about it. A career would come and finish him off at the Cornucopia. He had exactly two days left to live. Two. That was all. 

Nikola wiped his eyes furiously on the bedsheets, then began to, finally, change out of his stained and sweaty training clothes. He threw them haphazardly onto the floor, switching them out for soft, cotton pyjamas. Then he turned over his pillow, re-made the bed, and crawled inside. There. Much better. 

No more crying. What was done was done. The score… probably didn’t matter too badly. Six was still above average for normal, non-career tributes. He’d probably been overstepping, expecting an eight. Besides, training without a threat was one thing. Maybe he’d do so much better with all the pressure piled on. 

Still, it was a while before Nikola drifted off to sleep, kept awake by worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I love writing the Balkan characters, even if they're not very well known. Also, just thought I should mention, I have now also uploaded (most of) this fanfic to Wattpad as well! Updates will probably be slower over there, as AO3 is where I do all my main stuff. Apologies!
> 
> In case you missed it:
> 
> Zack -- New Zealand  
> Arman -- Persia 
> 
> Any kudos, comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, I'll hopefully see you in the next chapter!!


	11. District 11: Edelstein and Galante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only one day left to live, before they are all thrust into the arena.

The night they were shown their training scores, Roderich hardly slept. He was tormented with dreams filled with the career pack hunting him down, stringing him up in a net, laughing at him and pointing their weapons at him jeeringly. The two boys from district 2 were laughing. His parents from home were laughing. Even that girl from 7… she was laughing too…

He felt quite glad when the sun rose again, although his body was racked with back pains from the night. Roderich reached a hand out and felt the bedside table for his glasses, and put them on carefully. The world blurred into focus. He allowed himself to rest for a moment, but just a moment, as before long his poor back began aching for attention again. Roderich sat up slowly, and reached for the pot of cream that would soothe him. 

Today was a day all to his mentor and district escort. Roshun was his mentor, and Roderich nothing less that hated him. Roshun made it clear he didn’t like him all too well either, but District 11’s only other tribute was Ravis, and he was just twelve. The odd’s were definitely not in District 11’s favour. Roshun, it seemed, had all but given up on both of them. He was a tall, dark-skinned, athletic man, with a passion for a Capitol game called ‘football’. Roderich had never heard of it, and when Roshun had shown him what it was, he didn’t think much of the game that was all men just screaming and kicking a ball. It was at that point, it seemed, Roshun seemed to give up on him.

Thankfully Iakovos was more laid-back and relaxed. Roderich liked him much better than the too bold and too brash Roshun, anyway. He was Capitol, but other than his odd accent and the beads he adorned his hair with, he was perfectly normal. Roderich just didn’t like him because he supported the Hunger Games.

Today he would be spending all his valuable time left with those two. They would be coaching him on his interviews for the Games. Two hours with Iakovos for presentation, two hours with Roshun for content. Roderich less than looked forward to it. He stretched out the time as long as he could before he had to go downstairs to breakfast; washing himself, applying more cream, getting changed, brushing his teeth. Roderich was half tempted to just order food to his room so he wouldn’t have to go to breakfast. But he would have to face them eventually. 

“There he is!” Roshun exclaimed, as Roderich entered the dining room. There was a hint of malice in his voice.

Breakfast was already laid out on the table. Roderich took a seat next to Ravis and began to butter one of the soft white rolls. Roshun pointed his fork at Roderich. 

“We were just about to come and get you,” he told him. “Today is all about prep for the interviews. You probably know this already -- but you’ll have four hours with me and four hours with Iakovos. You’ll start with Iakovos. And we’ll begin as soon as we finish breakfast.”

“Splendid,” Roderich replied, in a tone more defeated than anything else. 

He took as long as possible with breakfast, although he didn’t have much of an appetite. Ravis and Roshun departed long before him, into the living room. Roderich could hear the quiet buzz of indistinguishable words through there. Then, with a heaving sigh, he stood up himself.

“Alright. I’m finished,” he said. “What do you have to teach me?”

“Presentation,” Iakovos replied, mysteriously. He too, stood up. “Come on. Follow me.”

Roderich couldn’t possibly imagine what Iakovos could have to teach him. Turns out, there was rather a lot, most of it highly insulting. Iakovos lead him to his bedroom, where he sat him down, and first scrutinised him for the best possible way to present him in a way that didn’t look so grotesque. Roderich felt at first affronted -- and then exhausted as Iakovos got him to work on posture. Sitting up as straight as he could, chin up, eye contact, hand gestures, and smiling. Apparently he had a tendency to frown at people in a most disapproving manner.

“It’s like you’re looking down on them,” Iakovos said. “And you want these people to like you.”

“They are betting on my life,” Roderich muttered back. But he was exhausted, and the muscles in his mouth were twitching from overuse. 

After posture, came walking. Roderich had been expecting this, but that didn’t make it any less insulting. Due to his crooked back, he had a tendency to walk lopsided, and do what Iakovos referred to as ‘hobble’. At first he got him working with a cane, but it was soon apparent that he could not walk with marching, quick steps, cane or no. Although Iakovos remarked that the cane did improve it, there was still a lot of limping. Roderich changed with Ravis at lunch, feeling more self-conscious, insulted, and annoyed than ever. 

And Roshun was so much worse. 

After lunch he took him into the sitting room, and, just like Iakovos, stared at him for a while, a frown on his face. Roderich looked back at him, returning the frown. 

“May I ask what are you doing?”

“Deciding,” he replied, shifting on the sofa. “These interviews are gonna decide how much the audience like you. And you kind of need that right now. Because you haven’t got a hope in hell in all other accounts.”

Roderich’s stomach gave an unpleasant turn. He didn’t like Roshun’s words, but he was right. He looked ugly -- something that would greatly impact the sponsors, as the Capitol was vain -- and his training score had barely scraped a four. No one was going to sponsor him on the fact that they knew a hunchback could never win the Games. Maybe a few would as a joke and to flash off how much money they could waste -- but that was it. 

“I could…” he began, but then trailed off. What? What could he do? Probably the most winning personality in the world wouldn’t save him at this point. Roderich gave a defeated sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly,” Roshun pointed out. “So… try and play it to the audience, I guess. Be charming. Confident. Act like you know exactly what you’re going to do. Like you have a plan. Maybe that’ll convince them to sponsor you.”

Roderich was never really one for acting, but he did his best. He thought he was coming off okay -- until Roshun pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. 

“No, no, no! You’ve got to be more mysterious than that. You can’t just reply ‘I don’t know’ to these questions!” 

He felt his face heat up in embarrassment. “It is difficult,” he snapped back. “When you are quizzing me like I’ve done something wrong!”

“I’m pressuring you,” Roshun replied, irritated. “You’ll feel it on the interview night. You’re tone is also too severe. Kick it back a notch, alright?”

“Fine,” he replied, sitting back on his end of the sofa. “Start again.”

But the comment had upset and annoyed him so much that Roderich couldn’t hold his temper down, until he was going back to glaring, that severe tone creeping back into his voice. Roshun tried a different angle, fierce -- but he was too vulnerable to be hostile, not to mention it wasn’t believable with his crooked back. They tried funny too. And likeable. It was then Roshun got fed up, and stood up.

“I give up,” he snapped. “Good luck out there in the Games, Roderich.” With that, he marched off, the four hours of tutoring not even having been filled. 

Roderich adjusted his glasses, willing himself not to cry, although they certainly got steamy. This was it. He had officially blown his chances of ever winning the Games at all. Hopefully his death would be quick. With that thought in mind, he gave a heaving sigh, and stood up. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere but here. His room? Roderich made a move towards it, but the door to Ravis’ room was open, and he didn’t want to have to stalk past them and suffer their inquisitive stares. That only left the rest of the floor -- and the lift. 

Roderich started towards the lift. Perhaps he could go down to the gymnasium and get some extra practice in. He hit the button and whizzed down below the Training Centre. But when he stepped out of the lift he was stopped by an Avox. They were shaking their head vigorously. 

“I’m not allowed in?” He asked, blankly.

The Avox nodded hurriedly. 

“Right…” he turned and entered back into the lift, burning slightly with embarrassment. But his hand hovered over the one that would take him back to District 11’s floor. Roderich didn’t want to go back there just yet. He was too annoyed, shamed, and scared. It was then his eye caught a different button. It read: the roof.

… Well. It was better than going back to his floor. 

Roderich pressed the button and let the lift shoot him up, past his room and District 12’s. It opened up into a large garden, with small pathways, and even trees. Rose bushes that were not only red, but white, jewel green, and deep purple in artificial colours. Ivy that wound it’s way around the tree trunks in clipped and clever patterns. Fruits even dangled down from these trees, low enough for him to reach, and the air was warm, blowing from probably vents hidden around the place, and making the wind chimes ring. It was a bit loud, but Roderich, for a moment, had his breath taken away. It was like a whole different kind of music. 

But he wasn’t alone. 

“Hey,” said a female voice just off to the side of him. Roderich turned, and -- oh just his luck -- it was the girl from 7. The one that had come to talk to him after the careers pushed him off. Elizabeta. He felt his face flush slightly.

“Sorry,” he said, immediately. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

Elizabeta shrugged in reply, and smiled. “It’s okay. It’s open to all tributes, not just me.”

“Is there anyone else here then?” Roderich asked.

“No. Just me, it looks like,” she told him. “Gave my mentor the slip, you know? I really can’t be asked to hop around on the stage like some kind of performing monkey for the Capitol.”

Roderich frowned. “But it would help, wouldn’t it? Getting sponsors?”

“Well, I figured I’ve already got all the information I need,” she gave another of those smiles. “Have you seen the view? I wanted to stay until the sun was setting to see what it looked like.”

How nice it must be to not have to worry about or even rely on sponsors. Well, Elizabeta was proficient enough with an axe. She could also climb, and looked as though she could fend for herself. He, on all accounts, did not. Roderich should feel annoyed and competitive with her, even hate her as she would win and he would not… but oddly enough he didn’t. Instead, he gave a weak smile.

“I haven’t. I imagine it would be quite pleasant, however.” 

“Come on, I’ll show you!” She took his hand and lead him down one of the chalky pathways, to the edge of the Training Centre. Roderich had to admit, it looked exquisite. The sun bounced off each hue of the candy-coloured Capitol, making it seem so bright and shiny. Every single house had a garden, and a drive, and even a car. Roderich wondered what it would be like to live here, with everything at their disposal. He decided it must be very nice. 

“Pretty, right?” Elizabeta laughed. “And so awful at the same time.”

“I -- I suppose,” he faltered. “What do you mean?”

“Well--” she gestured around at all the houses. “They get all this -- all these lovely things. While we starve.”

When she put it like that it did seem rather horrible. Roderich sighed. “I don’t suppose there is much we can do about it though.” In fact, by dying in the arena, they were rather strengthening this way of life. Elizabeta frowned.

“Yeah… I know.”

There was silence for a moment as they watched the people and the houses down below. Then Roderich spoke: “The interviews are tomorrow. Do you think you’ll do well?”

Elizabeta shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. My mentor calls me ‘fiesty’. … I’m not sure if it will gain me favour though. What about you?”

He shook his head, sadly. “I’m afraid I haven’t a hope. The Capitol is all about looks rather than personality -- and I don’t seem to have much of either.”

“You have personality!” She exclaimed, indignantly. “You’re… charming. Clever. Opinionated. You just need a little faith, is all.”

Faith? He’d need a lot more than faith to survive the next week or so. “I guess,” Roderich replied, uncomfortably. “But this morning hasn’t helped much with my faith at all?”

“Why?”

“My mentor doesn’t like me very much,” he admitted. “I’m only here because he got so cross with me he walked out. That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

Elizabeta frowned. “That’s horrible. He’s your mentor. He’s supposed to help.”

Roderich shrugged. “I don’t really blame him. He has to work with a hunchback and a twelve-year-old. I don’t imagine he thinks District 11 will win this year.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she nodded. “That young one is from 11 too. The boy, I mean.”

“It’s barbaric,” he murmured. “How they force children in here, just because they can.”

“Yep,” Elizabeta sighed. 

“And just to remind us how under our thumb we are,” he continued, bitterly. “It’s horrible, how they set us up against each other.”

“Yeah -- wait, what do you mean, ‘set us up against each other’?” Elizabeta asked, doubtfully. “The Districts?”

Roderich pursed his lips and nodded. “The favouring of the Careers means the rest of us resent them. I myself resent them. And it’s a good way to get us all to hate each other, to make sure than none of us stand together and overthrow the Capitol.”

“To… to…” she looked surprised, and even a little impressed. “... I never thought of that. The Capitol makes us hate each other on purpose?”

“Almost undoubtedly.” He was a little surprised she hadn’t sussed it out earlier. The girl seemed in equal match brains and brawn. Not to mention guts. Roderich knew he had brains, but was severely lacking in other aspects. 

“Huh…” Elizabeta looked out at the Capitol, a look of contemplation on her face. “... Well, a lot of things definitely seem to add up under that.”

Roderich nodded. “But what I wonder is… what if we didn’t? What if the districts were united, and the tributes refused to fight one another in the arena. Then what?”

“I… I don’t know…” she faltered. “I guess the Capitol would send in one of their mutts. Try and get us to fight that way.”

“I suppose,” he sighed. “But I like to think that one day we will stand up against this. Maybe that way the Hunger Games will come to an end.”

“With that attitude, I guess,” she chuckled, and then looked away, troubled. “... I’m sorry about Alfred the other day. He… he had no right to do that.”

“The showy, District 2 career?” Roderich asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. “... It’s okay. You’ve already apologised.”

“I know, but it didn’t seem enough,” Elizabeta muttered, frowning. “He had no right to treat you that way. None at all.”

“You ought not to have that attitude for the Hunger Games,” he remarked. “We’ll be doing a lot worse in there.”

“Well we don’t have a right to kill each other!” She suddenly burst out, frustratedly. “We -- we don’t, Roderich! We only have to because the Capitol is making us! This entire thing, it’s -- it’s--”

He took a step back in shock, glasses sliding down his face comically. Elizabeta turned away, and Roderich couldn’t help but feel like he was responsible. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“No,” she waved a hand, back still turned to him. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.”

“Still. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

Elizabeta gave a deep, irritated sigh, that made Roderich feel smaller than ever. A nagging part of him said that if he couldn’t impress just this one girl, what hope did he have for millions of potential Capitol sponsors? He opened his mouth a few times to say something -- something comforting -- but each time he closed it again. What could he say? Sorry you have to kill? Sorry you might die?

“Should I go?” He ended up saying, meekly. Elizabeta turned, surprised, and shook her head.

“No, sorry, I -- no. I just got angry,” she said. Was he imagining it? Or was there a guilty tone to her voice? “I like your company, really. Better than my district partner’s, anyway. You actually say things that are intelligent. And you’re not annoying.”

Roderich thought back to the conversation they had. That’s right; Elizabeta hated her district partner. She liked to throw stones at him. She also liked to run and hang out with her friends, and… “Do you still have the carved necklace?” He suddenly asked aloud.

“Oh -- um -- yes?” Elizabeta gave him a funny look. “Yes. Why?”

Roderich shook his head. He didn’t know why he suddenly brought that up. “I just remembered,” he answered, honestly. “The pin I was going to use for my symbol might not get approved. They say I could use it as a weapon.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. I was never all that close to my mother or father. They liked to keep me away.”

“Then they’re not real parents,” Elizabeta replied, hotly. Roderich shrugged again. 

“I wouldn’t know. Either way, I wouldn’t be particularly sad if my pin wasn’t approved.”

“Wouldn’t you like a bit of home to hang onto?” She persisted, then sighed. “But… you said you never really liked home, right?”

“Well,” he said, “it’s between home, and a bloodbath. Not really much of a choice.”

Elizabeta chuckled. “I… suppose.”

It was nice, talking with Elizabeta, Roderich realised. 

For the next few hours, the both of them just… talked. Roderich didn’t want to go downstairs and face Roshun, Ravis and Iakovos after today’s disaster. That would make the Hunger Games seem too real again. But up here, away from the world, and with Elizabeta… it was like stepping into a dream. A beautiful dream where there were gardens to explore, and soft, musical wind chimes -- and even a bit of laughter. Elizabeta took his hand at one point and began to slowly show him around the parts of the gardens she’d already explored.

But then the sun began to set.

“I suppose I’d better go,” Elizabeta said, mournfully. “You know -- you’re nice. Nicer than I expected,” she admitted. Roderich almost smiled.

“I could say the same about you,” he replied, honestly. She looked as if she was about to say more, when suddenly they came back upon the view. She gasped. Roderich didn’t blame her.

The setting sun on the glorious Capitol city was marvellous. The rays hit the rooftops and cast a golden glow around. It was bright, but not harshly so. Beautiful. This could be one of the last sunsets he ever saw, Roderich realised. Somehow that made it all the more beautiful, yet sad too. 

“... What a view,” Elizabeta whispered, smiling in awe. 

“Indeed it is,” he replied. But Roderich wasn’t looking at the sunset.

He was looking at Elizabeta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This chapter took ages to write to get Elizabeta and Roderich's chemistry just right and I still feel like it's screwed up in places, but hopefully it'll be alright. We're now so close to the actual Hunger Games!
> 
> In case you missed it:
> 
> Roshun -- Cameroon  
> Iakovos -- Cyprus


	12. District 12: Braginsky and Laurinaitis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the interviews is the last day they have, before being thrust into the arena.

Ivan awoke the morning of the interviews, to his prep team hanging over him. 

This day was going to be all to them. Ivan couldn’t exactly say he liked his prep team -- personally he thought them childish and vain, self-centered -- but he supposed they could not help what they had been taught. Besides, after seeing his costume for the Opening Ceremony the night he arrived, he couldn’t complain much. 

The entire morning and most of the afternoon was spent making him look Capitol-presentable. His nails were filed and polished. His skin was coated in a black powder that shimmered when he moved, although didn’t dye his skin black too. His face was erased with a pale cream and then stencilled back on; high cheekbones, black, smokey makeup, and small, pearl studs in his ears that definitely hadn’t been there when he first arrived at the Capitol. Ivan always thought makeup and earrings were something for girls. He was, evidently, wrong.

After the prep work, came the costume itself. It was mostly a long, black coat, that billowed out when he walked and left coal dust behind. That was the entire premise of the look; coal dust. That’s why everything was black and smokey, and he left behind ash when he walked. His prep team did squeal when they first saw him in all his get-up. 

“I don’t know,” Ivan had said, doubtfully. “Couldn’t we have saved this until later? There’s still a good few hours before the interview.”

“You’ll do fine,” said a quivering voice behind him. Ivan turned to see his district partner, Toris, in a similar get up. Still coal dust, but he didn’t look haunty like he did, rather more just friendly, with instead of ash, flickers of flame blossomed when he walked. The overall effect was quite nice. It suggested danger. Which, after meeting Toris, didn’t seem at all likely. Toris wasn’t dangerous. He was a cheerful, hardworking, cautious coal-miner. 

“I don’t want to ruin all the hard work my prep team put in though,” Ivan said, even more doubtfully. “Then this would all be for nothing.”

“I don’t think it can.” Toris rubbed had at his eye, and then showed him his knuckle. There was hardly a stain on it. “See?” He chuckled nervously, fiddling with his sleeve.

“Are you nervous?” Ivan asked him. Toris nodded.

“A -- a little, yes,” he admitted.

“Don’t be! They are only Capitol pigs.” His tone was meant to be encouraging, but for some reason Toris looked uncomfortable.

“... Right.”

“It is not like you will win anyway,” he continued. Ivan was trying to comfort him, but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. “So this will not matter in the end.”

… If anything, Toris looked even more uncomfortable. Before Ivan could work out what he said wrong, the prep team was back, and bustling them into the lift. It would take them to the backstage, where they’d be lined up to take their interviews, all twenty-four of them in one big arc. Ivan wasn’t nervous, although he did wish he had his scarf on him. He hadn’t been allowed to wear it as the bright pink would ruin the coal black look. 

When the elevator opened again, the rest of the tributes were already being lined up on the stage in their district pairs. Usually it was girl-boy, girl-boy, but as the number of boys outweighed the girls this year due to the quarter quell, if there was a same-sex pairing the person with the higher alphabetical last name was to go first. Ivan was steered in front of Toris, and seated. He was to go first out of the pair of them, then.

The room was completely packed. Elevated seating was for the more important guests, like the stylists, mentors, and escorts. On one balcony sat the Gamemakers, thankfully in a better state than they were on the training, though still with wine glasses in hand. The other balconies were reserved for the camera crew, perched like buzzards, although Ivan could see glimpses of cameras behind the curtains, along the walls, zooming in on the audience beginning to file in from the City Circle. Even for the Capitol, they were dressed posh and fancy, although it was hard to tell it from their normal day clothes. Ivan couldn’t help but wave a little at the guests. Hating each and every single one. 

Then, the lights dimmed. The talk and babble of the audience quietens down. A spotlight focuses in on the side-curtain, where, all of a sudden, Sadik Adnan bounded onto the stage with a round of stomping from the audience. Out of all the Capitols in the audience, Ivan liked Sadik the most. He’d decided this, because even he could tell that Sadik tried his best to make each tribute stand out. It was just a pity most of the tributes were petulant, frightened childen, that probably wouldn’t last even a day. Sadik was dressed in his usual suit and long green coat, although his mark was inlaid with a different set of jewels, like they were each year. Last year he’d inlaid them with rose-quartz. This year, obviously as it was a quarter quell, he’d gone with sparkling blue diamonds. 

“Hello, hello ladies and gentlemen!” He greeted the crowd, warmly. “I shake you by the hand, for tonight is a very special night, as I’m sure you all know. Please welcome, this year’s Quarter Quell tributes!”

He raised a hand in gesture to them, and Ivan couldn’t help another little wave. He saw one of the camera’s zoom in on him and smiled. 

Ivan knew he was already memorable. People had seemed to like him in the Opening Ceremonies. He’d gotten a score of ten in training. And now here, all he had to do was say a few lines and the crowd would love him! The only thing putting him at a disadvantage, was the fact that he’d broken with the Careers.

They were bullies. Ivan couldn’t stand bullies. 

Sadik warmed up the audience with a few jokes and anecdotes, none of which were particularly funny to him but had the crowd in stitches, and then turned on the tributes, calling the first girl to the front. Natalya, he believed her name was. Spray painted silver, with flowing white hair and a simple yet effective dress. When talking with Sadik it was clear what her strategy was; cool, calm, and confident, yet sharp and direct. Very effective. 

Each tribute had three minutes. After Natalya came Francis, and after Francis came Ludwig, and so on and so forth, Sadik calling each and every one up to the stage. The Careers were bold and confident; the non-Careers taking a time to open up to Sadik. Ivan waited his turn patiently. He was District 12, one of the last to go, yet not the very last. He could see much wine was being consumed between the Capitol audience. And then, Sadik called him up to the stage. 

Solid, sturdy steps. That’s what his escort had taught him the day before. Ivan swept out of his seat and towards Sadik, smiling serenely. 

“What an intimidating look we have here!” Sadik roared, to the audience’s approval. He stuck out a hand for Ivan to shake, and when he did pretended to wince and stagger in an over exaggerated fashion. “That’s… quite a grip you’ve got there!”

Ivan didn’t know what to say. So he just smiled wider and let the words tumble out of his mouth: “Yes, I do have a lot of strength. I think it will come in useful in the arena, no?”

“You don’t hang around, do you?” Sadik remarked, still clutching his hand like it was going to fall off. “So, big man Ivan, is it? Ten in training?”

Ivan nodded. “That’s right.”

“Just how did you manage that, eh? I don’t imagine it was all down to strength!” Here, he gave Ivan a hearty clap on the back. When he did this to others it often made them stumble. Ivan had a few inches on Sadik -- and his coat padded out the rowdy gesture a lot. 

“I am good with weapons,” Ivan confessed. “I should like to show you all in arena. I am quite proud of what I can do.”

“So just what can you do?” Sadik asked, curiously. He smiled wide.

“That would be telling, that would!”

“Ahh, you’re right there,” he replied, “So, Ivan, we know you’re big, strong, and tough. But what about your softer side? You do have one, don’t you?”

Ivan didn’t know what to say. So he shrugged again.

“Any family? Siblings?” Sadik pressed.

“I have two sisters.” Ivan held up two fingers to the camera to emphasise the point. “One younger and older, and I love them both very much. My older one made me my scarf. I am not allowed to wear it tonight. I am not allowed to wear it in the arena, either. They say it would give me a thermal advantage.”

A groan of outrage rippled throughout the audience, and Ivan smiled at them again, wanting them to be on his side. 

“But it is okay. When I win the Games, I can wear it all I like!”

“Well that’s certainly the winning attitude we like to hear, eh ladies and gents?” Sadik told the crowd, to a roar of approval. “Maybe you can tear a scrap off and tie it around your arm?”

Ivan looked stricken. “But that would ruin the scarf!”

“Ah, perhaps you’re right.” He checked his watch. “Just one minute left, Ivan, just one minute left, so tell us; a big guy like you should have all sorts wanting you as an ally. Yet you haven’t seem to have made any allies. Why not?”

Ivan paused. “I was an ally, for a time. For the career pack -- District One, Two, Four, and a few others,” he clarified for the unknowing Capitol audience. “But I left.”

“Why?” Sadik pressed. “That seemed like a good alliance to me!”

He shook his head. “Maybe to you. Do you really want to know?”

“Of course we do!” He roared, with a cheer of asset from the crowd. “So tell us -- come on!”

Ivan let his head drop a bit, and a shadow passed over his face. 

“They were bullies,” he said, lowly. “And I do not associate with bullies.”

The buzzer suddenly went off, and Sadik took Ivan by the arm. 

“Ivan Braginsky, ladies and gentlemen!” He yelled, holding up his hand. The audience cheered for a time, and then Sadik let go for his hand for him to sweep back to his seat, ashes trailing behind in his wake. 

“You did great!” Toris whispered, hoarsely, an hour later. The interviews were over; the tributes had been allowed to file back across the Training Centre to the anthem of the Capitol, across the lobby, and back into the lifts. “Much better than me.”

“Oh, don’t be so silly, they liked you too!”

But the both of them knew that only one of them would make a lasting impression. Toris just shook his head sadly.

“I suppose we’d better take all this off…” he mumbled, still fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeve. “I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight!” A nervous chuckle. 

That’s right. The Hunger Games would officially start tomorrow. No more training, assessments, or interviews. No more nice food, fancy clothes, or technology at their disposal. No, only them, and the arena. 

Ivan gave a shrug. “I am actually feeling quite confident. I will win, for home.”

Another nervous chuckle. “You will, huh? Well… I suppose at least if you win my family will reap the celebrations reward…”

The lift stopped at their floor, the highest in the Training Centre, which was ironic for miners that worked underground. His prep team, mentor, and escort were all delighted to see him, and the happy, bubbly mood couldn’t help infecting him. 

“Won’t you stay up with us?” Ivan asked Toris, as he began to slip away early. Toris just shook his head, brown shaggy hair beginning to become messy again from the immaculate brushing of before.

“No. I’m tired,” he said, with a fake-sounding yawn. “And -- it’s a big day tomorrow, you know? I’ll… change out of this…”

The flames flickered out as Toris left. He didn’t sound nervous anymore. He sounded a little bit defeated. Ivan knew that was good for himself, since there could only be one winner, and he was determined that would be him, but all the same. He had rather liked Toris. He would be sad to see him die. 

“It is a big day tomorrow!” His escort realised, and stood up primly. “Right! To bed with you too! Can’t having you all sleep deprived for tomorrow!”

Ivan nodded. “Ah -- right, okay.”

“Surely just one more glass of wine--” One of the prep team began, to have the idea quickly squashed.

“No, no -- Toris has the complete right idea!” She said, sternly. “Bedtime, quick! No more!”

Ivan knew there was partying going on downstairs, mostly by the Capitol folk, for the big day tomorrow, but now thinking about it he was really tired, his eyes beginning to itch. He stood up from the sofa, and, with a word of goodbye to his prep team, made his way back into his room. 

His exhaustion seemed to get worse with every step towards his bedroom, yet Ivan still somehow managed to scrub every last inch of makeup from his face in the bathroom, shrug off the black coat and formal clothes, and put on his pyjamas again. Then, he felt under his pillow for his special scarf. Ivan pressed it close to his nose for a moment, taking in its familiar sweet, musty scent. It smelled like home, and family. 

Family. Although there was a pretty good chance of him winning, he might never see them again. His solemn little sister. His kind older one. All of his friends down in the mines, and the canary they took down with them too that he’d nicknamed ‘Dusty’, although he had probably died from the inhalation of all that coal dust. Ivan liked to name the canaries. Even if they all died. 

From this angle on his bed, he could see out of the enormous glass window he had that took up the whole wall. The City Circle was lit up like a Christmas tree, all bright lights and, although he couldn’t hear it, probably laughter and music too as they paraded down below. Ivan half wanted to join them to take his mind off things. But before he knew it his eyes had slid closed, and had opened again to it barely being dawn, the sky still dark. 

Today was the day of the Hunger Games. 

Shujinko, his main stylist, was the one to greet him in the morning, not his mentor or escort. Those hastily said goodbyes had been done the night before. He dressed him in simple attire, then escorted him to the elevator, where they went right to the very top. Amongst the gardens up there was a helipad right in the centre. It was windy, and blowy, and even more so when the hovercraft appeared out of thin air. A ladder dropped down and Ivan stepped onto it, as instructed by Shujinko. The moment he did he felt his hand and feet freeze into place. 

The ladder brought him up into the hovercraft, where a woman was waiting for him with a syringe.

“Hold out your arm,” she instructed, “and stay as still as you can. I’m going to inject your tracker now.”

Ivan obediently held out his arm, and felt a sharp stab of pain as the metal was inserted into his arm. It felt weird, and buzzed slightly under his skin, which took some getting used to once the pain had ebbed away. This was required for all tributes, so the Gamemakers could track their every move. Wouldn’t want a missing tribute, after all. 

The woman disappears and Shujinko is collected from the roof. After that, not much was said, as the hovercraft began to fly them away to the arena that was specially built for them. An Avox lead him into a seperate room where breakfast food was laid out on the table. Ivan wished he had his scarf with him, all of a sudden. He didn’t like all this motion in the air. It made him feel sick. He couldn’t eat anything other than sip at water constantly, despite Shujinko’s constant presses at him to eat.

Ivan hoped it was the flying, and not nerves that were making him feel so sick. He’d been so confident about the Games before!

The journey was only half an hour, but it felt like much longer. The windows blacked out before they arrived, so that he couldn’t catch a glimpse of the arena before he would be sent in. The hovercraft landed and Ivan was made to step back onto the ladder, and lowered down into the catacombs below the arena. There, he followed the direction to his own, specially made Launch Room. The chambers were comfortable, but that didn’t really hide it’s true nature. It was a stockyard. In a few minutes, people would be killed. 

The bullies would be back. 

Ivan liked that thought. The one of him teaching the bullies a lesson. He just didn’t want to hurt any of the other tributes. He was sure he would, when it came down to it, but he knew he would feel guilty for it. So, so guilty. Like putting down a puppy dog.

“Come on, Ivan,” Shujino said, nodding towards a seperate room. “You should shower. The clothes should arrive in a moment.”

Ivan nodded in reply. “Of course.”

He took long with his shower, and brushing his teeth, then drank more water directly from the tap, like he couldn’t hold enough inside him. The clothes arrived, and Shujinko brought them to him: a plain black vest shirt, a thick, waterproof jacket, a belt, camouflage trousers, and sturdy, leather walking boots. Shujinko analyses these, and told him about them.

“The jacket is good for reflecting heat,” he told him. “And the boots are solid and sturdy, made of good leather. They won’t wear down, although won’t be very waterproof.”

Ivan nodded, trying to take it all in. He tried to imagine what the arena would look like from these clothes, but evidently couldn’t. There were just too many variables for these kinds of things. He just put the clothes on, and sipped more water.

“Oh, and one last thing,” he added. Ivan looked up. It was his scarf, his pink one. “I know you said on the interview night you didn’t want to tear a scrap off, but… I thought you might change your mind.”

Ivan grabbed his scarf quickly. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, already nose deep in the familiar scent of home. 

“Only a scrap mind,” Shujinko warned. “I’ll cut it carefully, don’t worry.”

Ivan knew he was a stylist, but he couldn’t bear the scissors against his most precious scarf. He hated the rasping noises coming from it. His scarf was now barely a strip shorter, but it felt wrong, like they’d just hackd off a limb. Ivan let Shujinko tie it around his wrist and then brought his hand up to his face to smell it. Home. 

Then, a pleasant female voice rang out across the chambers, telling them it was time to step onto the Launch Pad, the Hunger Games will commence in just three minutes. Ivan walked over to the metal plate, remembering about the bullies. He had to do this. For home, and for his sisters. No more time to be nervous. He was ready for this.

The glass cylinder lowered around him, sealing him off from the outside world. Sounds were cut off too, so that it was only him and him alone in this glass tube. Then, the metal plate under his feet began to rise. It lifted him up into darkness for about fifteen full seconds, then something opened above him, and a bright, white light appeared above him. An icy cold wind began to blow around him, snow was falling into his cylinder before he’d even fully arisen.

Ivan was lifted into a complete, white blizzard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! Aaaah, I finally made it, we are now in the arena, and things are about to get... messy. Also, I am so glad I don't need any more characters for mentors/stylists/escorts, because I was beginning to run out of characters. 
> 
> In case you missed it:
> 
> Shujinko -- Picardy
> 
> Any kudos, comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, I'll hopefully see you in the next chapter!


	13. Welcome to the Hunger Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hunger Games have officially begun.

Although the icy wind was blowing her backwards, Natalya kept her feet firmly planted on her metal plate. Move, and she would die. They had exactly sixty seconds to get their bearings. Now -- where were they?!

Unfortunately it was hard to see her own hand in front of her face for the snowstorm she had just been lifted into. Everything was white and snowy, the wind chilled her to the bone in her thin clothing, the air felt like cold knives on her cheek. Natalya, holding her arms close with her already frozen fingers, looked left. White blizzard, no tributes. Same for her right side. Forwards she could see nothing, not even the countdown for the sixty seconds. But -- wait -- was that a glimpse of gold she saw?

Then the snowstorm lifted, blowing her hair up with it, and Natalya saw where she was just thirty seconds before they could step off their plates. 

The tributes were all in a circle around the now fully visible Cornucopia, that much she had expected. Four metres to her left, was the cripple from 11, and four to her right was one of the District 3 boys -- Kiku, or something like that. They weren’t all standing on a snowy flatlands like she’d expected either. There was still snow, but about four metres behind her again, was a sharp drop, and forest below that. There was a sharp drop behind all of them. Natalya wanted to say they were standing on a mountain, but a mountain with the area of the top smoothly and expertly cut off, to make room for all the tributes and the Cornucopia. Speaking of, Natalya turned back around to face it, ten seconds on the clock. Her eyes scanned its contents. 

In the middle was weapons. Around those weapons were sleeping bags, rucksacks, tents, containers of medicine, garments. But the further away they got the smaller and less useful the objects became. Like a few steps from her, was just an apple, while in the mouth of the Cornucopia was a full crate of them. Luckily she was with the Careers, and the Careers almost always took the best pickings of the Cornucopia for themselves. It was the Careers that protected it later too, and the Careers that killed the most in the first few minutes. 

She was a Career now. She was going to have to kill. Natalya took a deep breath. 

The gong sounded just three seconds after she’d gotten into running position. Natalya could run fast, at least faster than the two beside her, but more were closing in on the Cornucopia at the same time. The snow made it harder to run, absorbing the impact of her feet slamming hard into the ground. She leapt over a tent pack, aiming for the knives that were scattered fair around the middle bit. The moment she had one -- just a simple dagger -- in her hand, Natalya felt something slam into her side hard. 

Luckily the impact was a blunt, dull one, although it still knocked her to the ground. She turned, holding the knife up protectively, but the assailant had already moved on, digging out a huge sword from the weapon’s stash. It was the huge boy from 10, the one with the blue and white scarf, and although he’d lost his scarf now the tall stature remained as large as ever. Natalya scrambled to her feet as an arrow whizzed past her and sunk into 10’s back. That’s right; he’d refused from the Career pack. Pretty stupid of him, she thought personally, as Alfred was advancing on him with his own, much bigger sword. For a second their eyes locked.

“Defend the Cornucopia!” He shouted, and Natalya took this like an order. Who was she to question Alfred anyway? Natalya dove back down into the Cornucopia, restocking on knives, looping a few into the belt, and then straightened back up. 

Most of the non-Careers were grappling over small prizes far off, keeping their distance from them, but there were still a fair few advancing. Out of nowhere Francis materialised next to her, all traces of delicacy gone as he had a cut down his cheek and down his neck, plus was bleeding from the shoulder. But this apparently wasn’t fazing him, as he reloaded his bow he’d won from that scupper. 

“You go ‘round to the other side,” he told her, as he took aim with his arrow. “I shall take care of things here, mon cher.”

Ignoring the way Francis giving her orders irritated her, and that nickname, Natalya gave another swift nod and took off to the other end of the Cornucopia, this time at the tail end. There were a fair few scavengers around here, including a boy from 6, a timid one Natalya could not recall the name, training score nor interview to. He was clutching a tent pack in his hands. On instinct, Natalya extended her arm forwards, and let the throwing knife fly from her fingertips. The moment it left her she half-hoped the boy would see it, dodge, and run. She would have let him run too. But too late did he look up, and the knife sunk into his chest. Right where his heart was. 

The boy gave a horrid gasp, and the pack fell from his hands as they went up to grab the handle. He didn’t even pull it out, just staggered backwards for a moment, holding it. Then he tripped over one of the spears lying on the ground, and fell back, hitting the snow with a muffled thump. Natalya heard a gasp to her right and on instinct turned, a knife outstretched in her hand. 

“Matthew!”

It was the girl from 8. The tiny one. Her name was Lili -- or something of that kind. She had her hands clamped over her mouth and her eyes wide in horror as she watched the boy bleed out into the snow. But, more intimidatingly, was her brother, Basch. Basch pushed the girl behind him, his own weapon of a spear in his hand, and threw it at Natalya. She ducked on instinct and it flew over her head, hitting the Cornucopia (she could tell by the metallic chink sound). Straightening up, Natalya raised her knife up again to throw at him -- but she never got the chance. For at that moment, Maximo appeared out of nowhere, charging at Basch with a bellow akin to a bull’s. He tackled him down into the snow where they grappled for a moment. But Basch was clearly no match for Max.

Natalya turned her attention back to the girl, taking another knife out the loop of her belt so she was doubly armed. In the rush and the adrenaline coursing through her, she probably would have killed that girl right there and then. Luckily -- or so she felt anyway -- she never got the chance. 

Three more assailants were on top of them now. Toris -- the partner of Ivan from 12 -- Eduard -- Natalya couldn’t remember how she recalled his name, but his glasses were askew on his face -- and Ravis, the small blond thirteen-year-old. She didn’t have time to ponder the disadvantage she was at however, because a knife grazed her side from behind and entered Ravis’ leg. He let out a cry of pain as Natalya turned, thinking it was an enemy -- but it was Yao, armed to the teeth with knives like she. At least she had an ally in this. 

Yao skidded in the snow to a stop next to her. “I’ll help you now.”

Natalya liked Yao. He was straight to the point, never minced around with his words, although he could be arrogant and annoying. She had just turned her attention back to the trio, when there was a bellow of pain from here Maximo and Basch had been grappling. Natalya glanced over briefly.

Basch’s neck had been snapped. But, in the confusion, in the last moment’s before he died he’d managed to sink an arrow into Maximo’s neck. Maximo howled with pain and stupidly wrenched the arrow out; blood spurted from his neck and stained the snow a bloody red as he writhed. Natalya did her best to ignore the bellows of pain. He’d be dead soon. Again, she turned her attention back to the trio. Toris had grabbed a spear and Eduard had grabbed a crying Lili’s hand, shielding her from battle, but the young one -- Ravis -- was stock still, staring at Maximo writhing in mute horror. Natalya saw Yao raise his arm next to her. 

Two knives. The first plunged into his temple. The second hit his chest. Ravis dropped like a stone to the floor after a shrill scream of pain, staining the snow a further red. 

“Ravis!” Toris cried in horror as the boy dropped next to him, then tightened his hold on the spear. He took a few steps forwards and gave a massive lunge towards her -- Natalya barely dodged in time. The head of the spear grazed her arm and took a good chunk of fabric off with it too. Natalya did the first thing she thought of and grabbed the spear with her free hand. Toris, instead of dropping it, tried to pull it back for a moment, but Natalya held it firm, and that was all the time Yao needed to throw his knife. 

Except it missed, and bounced off the Cornucopia instead. Toris managed to wrench the spear free and threw it at Yao instead; he ducked and it sailed over his head. Natalya threw another knife at Toris, and this time he ducked, rolled, and grabbed another spear. Straightening up again, he threw it at Yao -- who wasn’t quite so quick to dodge this time. 

“Toris, let’s go!” Eduard yelled, who the entire time they’d been fighting had slowly been backing away, keeping a firm hold of Lili’s hand. “Forget the supplies!”

Toris appeared to agree with this sentiment, and turned to race away, but Natalya was quick. She knew they couldn’t be allowed to get away. Only one winner was allowed, after all. Out of an adrenaline rush alone, she took a few running steps -- and then a leap. She jumped right onto Toris’ back. Toris gave a yelp of surprise as his legs suddenly gave out under this new weight -- and Natalya plunged the knife into his back. 

He yelled in pure pain, and tried to struggle away. This was difficult when Natalya was pinning him down hard, pushing his head into the ground with one hand. That stab hadn’t been enough. With shaking hands, she plunged her knife in again, deeper this time, and twisted. She pushed the handle right in, ignoring his sobs and his pleas. Eduard and Lili were making their escape down the mountain, it was too late to pursue them now. Dark red was staining Toris’ back, and slowly his whimpers began to cease. Natalya finally climbed off him, breathing hard, and her heart pounding in her ears. She had just killed, in the last five minutes, not one, but two men. 

“Natalya!” Came a call from behind her. She turned to see Arthur jogging up to her, looking a little puffed out from the recent events. She saw him cast his gaze on Toris’ body for a moment, gave a slight grimace, then straighten himself up and compose himself. “Come on, we’re regrouping. Grab what you need from the Cornucopia.”

Natalya said nothing for a moment but nod. “... I understand.”

She liked Arthur. Much more than she liked Yao anyway, who, for her, was always slightly too arrogant. That wasn’t saying Arthur wasn’t arrogant, but he conducted himself that bit better. As she walked back to the Cornucopia, through the blood-soaked snow, she saw Yao’s body on the ground, a spear through his stomach. So he had died… Her stomach gave an unpleasant squirm. 

Over by the mouth of the Cornucopia, there appeared to be a ruckus. 

“I’ll kill him!” Alfred roared, swinging his sword around rashly. “I swear to God, I’ll kill that man!”

“Alfred!” Arthur shouted over him, jogging back up to him. “What on Earth are you--”

“Ivan,” he got out, before Arthur could even finish that sentence. Alfred turned on the man and pointed his sword right at his throat. All the other Careers seemed to take a step back, along with gasps of surprise. “That bastard got away! And he took my best sword!”

“Alfred, calm down--” Elizabeta tried to get out, but was quickly silenced by a pointed glare from him. Natalya wanted to point out that the sword he had would probably more than suffice, but then she didn’t want that sword pointing at her throat either. Arthur cleared his throat.

“You’ll find him,” he replied, in a steady tone. “And to kill him with an inferior sword would be an even greater insult to him.”

Alfred paused for a second, mulling over Arthur’s words. Then a smile slowly stretched out over his face, and the sword lowered from the other’s neck.

“Yeah,” he said, then louder. “Yeah! Hear that Ivan? I’m coming for you! And I’ll kill you--” He held up his sword. “With this!”

Natalya saw Arthur privately roll his eyes. 

“Right.” Alfred swung his sword back down and turned to the others. “Grab what you want and we’ll go after him!”

“We should probably have someone stay here,” Arthur told him. “We don’t want anyone else grabbing what we don’t take.”

“Good idea,” Elizabeta said, hastily. “Who’s good to stay?”

“I’m not,” Alfred said, rudely. “I’m going.”

“So am I,” Antonio agreed. 

“I can stay,” Natalya said, and everyone turned to look at her. She shrugged. “I don’t mind missing out.”

“I’ll stay too,” Elizabeta agreed. “I can--”

“No,” Alfred cut over her. “I want you with us. Arthur can stay.”

Arthur appeared to give a silent sigh of relief. Meanwhile Alfred strode over to the edge of the mountain, peering down it. It wasn’t too harsh a slope on this side, but there was still the threat of falling or creating a rockslide. 

“I think I should stay too,” Francis suddenly said, on seeing the slope. “I can shoot down any who try to climb up.”

“Ya sure, Francis?” Alfred gave him a funny look, then shrugged. “Okay. But I’m going!” He swung a leg down.

“Supplies first, you need supplies!” Arthur groaned, grabbing him by the arm. “You don’t have any food or drink on you! Not to mention you might need a healing pack.”

“... Right.” Sounded slightly annoyed now, Alfred let Arthur drag him back to the Cornucopia. 

The hunting team, currently, consisted of Alfred, Natalya, Antonio, and Elizabeta. It was the smallest Career group the Hunger Games had had in awhile. Yao, Maximo, their death seemed to have diminished the Career group by a lot. 

Natalya leant against the side of the Cornucopia, letting the rest of them pick out what they wanted. While that was going on, she heard hovercrafts begin to appear in the sky, taking the bodies. She watched this mutely, eyes scanning each body that went up. She didn’t know who had died down below, but up here there were nine bodies. They left nothing but the blood on the snow. On one of the hovercrafts she saw the boy she killed so thoughtlessly… 

“We’re all geared up!” Alfred shouted. He now had on some kind of thin leather armour, and was carrying more weapons now. “We’re off!”

“Wish us luck!” Antonio added, clutching a brand new trident, plus one slung across on his back, as well as some odd sort of netting he carried like a belt. 

“Goodbye!” Francis called. The hunting Careers turned, and began to slowly climb their way down the mountain. 

Once they were officially gone, Arthur clapped his hands in a businesslike way. “Right! We want to give ourselves a maximum advantage here, since there aren’t a lot of us. Francis, you circle the perimeter. Natalya, stay on the snow, but near the Cornucopia.”

“Who put you in charge?” Francis asked, annoyedly. “I’m--”

“I am simply putting us to the best advantage,” Arthur replied, in a tone of equal irritation. “If you want to ignore me, that’s fine, but you’d put us all in danger.”

Francis didn’t seem to like being talked to like this very much, and flounced off towards the edge. Arthur, again, rolled his eyes like they were marbles. 

“What will you do?” Natalya asked, looking to Arthur. 

“I will sit on the Cornucopia,” Arthur replied, proudly. “Hand me a knife. If somehow Francis and you miss an opponent, I’ll be able to spot them easily.”

Natalya gave him three of her knives, then dug around in the Cornucopia for three more. She was also beginning to get cold, especially as she wasn’t running around anymore. She couldn’t find anything that warm to wear, but she did find a thick blanket near the edge of the weapons stash, and slung that around her shoulders like a cape. If anyone tried to jump her she’d drop it in an instant, but for now it kept her nicely warm. 

The snow was still heavily stained with blood, especially around the parts where Alfred had been fighting. Natalya didn’t want to even think about what he’d done. She didn’t want to think about what she herself had done either. She hadn’t even done it to win, she just let the knife fly on instinct into that poor boy’s heart. And the little one too, the little boy, clearly horrified, Yao hadn’t even given him a chance. Toris… she had to keep plunging the knife into him… while he bled out in the snow… 

Natalya turned a knife over in her hands, suddenly hating it. When she first found her skill with knives, she thought she had been given a lucky break. This was not lucky. She’d only killed two people, and she didn’t want to kill any more. But that wasn’t the kind of attitude that won you the Hunger Games. If anything that would get her kicked out of the Careers and killed.

… Well… she’d always been good at disguising her emotions… 

Halfway through the guarding process, Arthur slid off the Cornucopia, and grabbed one of the tent poles. For a second Natalya thought he was going to set it up, when he just began… drawing. In the snow. Francis was on the other side of the Cornucopia, having gotten bored of circling long ago and was now just sitting on the edge. Natalya approached him.

“I’m just working some things out,” Arthur told her, before she even got a chance to open her mouth. “Give me the blanket, would you? It’s cold.”

Natalya was tempted to tell him to get his own blanket, but she did want to see what he was up to. She slung it off her shoulders and put it around Arthur’s, who took it gratefully. 

“Thanks.”

“What are you doing?” She finally got to ask, peering at the snow from his angle. It looked like some sort of chart.

“Working out how we’re going to rotate the hunting group,” Arthur informed her. “Of course, if any come back dead I’ll have to rework the whole thing, and I’m trying to erase disadvantages…”

Natalya peered at it closer. Ahhh… She could see it now. Each day they had people go out hunting, while three stayed back. There was an N for her, E for Elizabeta, F for Francis, then An, Al, and Ar to represent Antonio, Alfred and Arthur. Looking closer, she could also see that Arthur had no hunting days. And… even closer… Alfred had every hunting day. 

Tomorrow Francis would be switched with Antonio. Then she would be switched with Elizabeta. Overall, it wasn’t a bad setup. 

“We’ll have to see what the others think, of course,” Arthur said, promptly. “But if there are no objections we should write it down -- or else commit it to memory.”

Natalya nodded mutely. “It’s a good plan,” she mused. “But why don’t you ever go hunting?”

Arthur seemed to redden a bit. “Well I’m no good with any sort of weapon,” he replied, roughly. “If they need me for tactical advantages I’d be happy to help, but otherwise I see no reason for me to leave.”

“I see,” she replied. 

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind.” Arthur waved a flippant hand in front of her. “I still have a lot of working out to do, so if you would like to leave me in peace that would be very handy.”

“... Right.” Natalya stood back a little. She backed away from Arthur, peering at his chart for a while more, before finally turning her back. She needed another blanket, and the screams of that poor boy was echoing in her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Aaaaah, we finally made it, I'm so happy! Even though I just killed off a lot of people in one fell swoop. We're finally getting into the nitty-gritty of things, and I can finally start writing some proper angst.
> 
> I appreciate any kudos, comments, or constructive criticism to be given, hopefully I'll see you in the next chapter!!


	14. There is Only One Rule:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig decides to just go it alone. But, things don't always go to plan.

When the gong went off, Ludwig had been off like a shot. Not towards the Cornucopia, like Toris next to him, or Antonio on his other side. He went forwards a little, to the tail end of the Cornucopia, and had managed to snag a black backpack and a single spear. That was all he needed -- then he got the hell out of there, before Alfred saw him. 

He hiked down the mountain as quickly as possible without slipping. He was alone on this side, no one in front or behind to engage in battle. No Careers, undoubtedly fighting near the top. At one point an arrow whizzed past his left shoulder -- Francis, probably -- but there were no more attacks after that.

At the bottom of the mountain was a river, and beyond that a forest. Ludwig charged through the river at full speed into it. The forest gave him solitude and shelter, or at least, the feeling of it, though he knew he was probably on-camera a lot. Enough to show he was alive, he was out of the Cornucopia, he had a weapon and a mystery bag. Ludwig didn’t stop to check the contents of the bag just yet; he had to keep moving. His sponsors, grandfather and brother could stare at him all he liked for not engaging up there, but he was vastly outnumbered. If Alfred saw him, he would likely target him. Plus Alfred had allies. Ludwig had tried making a few, but after Alfred kicked him out of the Careers, he gave up on that idea. He didn’t need allies anyway. He could go it alone.

His training had prepared him for a situation like this. His first objective was to find water. His food source could come later -- water was his main priority now. Besides, the forest looked lush with fresh berries, in this area at least, and Ludwig recognised a few. There were birds too, less easily harvested than berries, and once, he saw a squirrel. These were good signs. It wasn’t some specialised arena with rabid animals. It was like the real world.

Ludwig walked on. 

He saw no one as he walked, and the ground didn’t appear to change either. It didn’t slope up or down. The types of trees didn’t change. There weren’t any valleys, fields or hills, or even any geographical landmarks other than dense forest. He also didn’t see another water source. Not until he got to the edge of the arena, anyway. 

It took four hours of walking in one straight line, seeing no one. Ludwig could tell it was the edge, because there was just a wall of shimmering blue, like the sky, beyond another river. The wall was slightly curved, indicating that the arena was just one big circle, entrapping them all inside. Ludwig drew up a mental map in his mind. 

The mountain was in the centre, most likely, with a river running around it. Beyond that was forest, presumably in all directions. Then another river, possible stretching it’s way all around the inside. Then the wall. That was all he had to work with. 

The arena wasn’t that large, then. 

Thirsty, Ludwig finally knelt down by the river and took off his backpack. He kept an ear out for any assailants, but there didn’t appear to be any. Inside his pack, he found a roll of twine, a box of matches, a small water skin, a blanket, a few dried strips of beef, and a pot of some sort of cream. Ludwig had no idea what it was supposed to fix, and there was no label for it. He replaced the things carefully inside his pack, all but the water skin, which he filled with water. 

Ludwig tested the water slowly. It didn’t look poisonous; the water was as clear as a summer’s day and smelled just fine. Still, he only allowed himself a few sips, before deciding he could wait again. He put the, now full, bottle of water in his bag, then slung it over his shoulder again, and grabbed his spear. The canon shots. 

He crouched down and silently counted on his fingers the shots he could hear. One… two… three… on they went until it reached nine. Ten were dead, died at the Cornucopia, died at the hands of the Careers. None had died by his hand yet, but his were bound to get bloody sooner or later, especially if he wanted to come back alive. Ludwig stood when the canons shots were over, and began walking again, against the river. But what he saw was much of the same thing. More of the same oak trees, the ground never sloped upwards or down. A little way into his walking, he saw a strawberry bush, and quickly stripped it of the red fruit for eating, but other than that the only thing that was different was that he saw a pond in amongst the trees a little way off. So he’d been wrong about the two rivers being the only water sources. 

The strawberries weren’t quite ripe and tasted oddly sour. Ludwig tested them slowly in case they were poisonous -- but they didn’t seem to be other than the weird taste. They far from satisfied his hunger, especially after a day of walking, but Ludwig expected he’d find something to hunt sooner or later. But by this time, the sun was beginning to set, and twilight was falling. Ludwig felt stranger than ever about this, however. There were fourteen tributes out there, in an arena that wasn’t that large. Surely he would have come across someone by now. Then another problem began to crop up: where was he supposed to sleep for the night?

Out here would be too revealing. Ludwig couldn’t climb a tree either; he wasn’t built for that sort of thing. Until he could find somewhere safe, he wouldn’t sleep. Fatigue settled on him the darker the sky became, but Ludwig shook it off easily. The only time he allowed himself to be distracted from his goal, was when the Capitol seal was projected into the sky, followed by its anthem that preceded the death’s recap. 

Back home, they’d be watching the deaths in full. Here, however, it could give living tributes an advantage or disadvantage, so all they got were headshots of the dead in the sky, with their district number. Ludwig turned his gaze skywards to see the ten dead.

The first shown was Maximo from 4. That meant all those through 1 and 3 had survived. The next were the two from 6, the brother boy from 8, one girl from 9, the tall one from 10, the young boy from 11, and the brunet from 12. Then the Capitol seal was back, along with the final flourish of the music, and then silence. The sky returned to darkness.

1 through 3 survived… Ludwig had to admit he wasn’t expecting that. Both of the boys from District 3 looked like they’d never held a weapon in their life, nor ever taught a survival skill. Plus that Feliciano -- Ludwig believed that was his name -- he looked too happy to be here, along with the sense that the poor boy couldn’t say boo to a goose. Ludwig shook his head to clear his thoughts. Sooner or later, he’d be dead. There was no point dwelling on it.

He still needed to find some sort of shelter. 

Ludwig walked onwards, gripping his spear tightly in his hand. The darker it became the less he could see through the trees. The rush of the river was also loud, compromising his ability to hear nearby assailants. Soon, he found himself walking back into the forest, not only for shelter and to hear again, but for the warmth and concealment of the trees. It seemed like the best option, currently, and he didn’t have a lot else. Still, he didn’t see anyone else. This was strange, not only because the arena wasn’t very large, but because the Gamemakers would want to push tributes together to have them fight it out. … Perhaps there was fighting going on elsewhere. An image of that boy from District 3 flashed behind his mind’s eye again, but Ludwig pushed it away. 

Eventually, and after much walking, he did find refuge in a clump of rocks by the river. The rock actually managed to cave a little over the river, and it was on the edge underneath the rock did he decide to stay the night for cover. If he took his backpack off, and squeezed his legs up close to his chest behind a series of rocks, he was sure no one could see him. Ludwig took one last drink of water, then refilled the bottle, as he now knew it wasn’t poisonous, and put it into the backpack again lest he be wrong and need a quick escape. 

The last thoughts he had before he drifted off were of his brother and Grandfather. Would Gilbert be cheering him on, rooting for him? Or would he already be drunk out of his mind through bitterness? Ludwig suspected the latter. And did his Grandfather approve of his plan of going solo? Well, whatever they thought, they were unreachable now… the only way to know would be to win the Games… 

Ludwig awoke again to the sound of voices. 

He gripped his backpack tightly, remaining still, for now. Ludwig groped around for his spear -- where was it?! Somehow, in the night, it had rolled away and lodged itself between two other rocks. Ludwig reached over, but in his haste accidentally dislodged some of the rocks he’d been leaning against. He gave a silent wince, but the rush of water must have been too loud, because they didn’t seem to hear. As Ludwig reached over, and grabbed the end of his spear, he tried to identify the voices. 

“Look, Kiku! Water!” One said happily. There was a sudden splash, and more splashes followed. “See, I told you we’d find it!”

“Feliciano!” The other one groaned, desperately. “Get out of there! We need to use it for drinking.”

Ludwig knew those voices, and he knew they weren’t careers either. They were the pair from District 3. Of course it had to be them. These were the last people he wanted his first kill to be. And -- his muscles suddenly tightened in alarm -- if one was in the river, they would be able to see him under the shelf of rock. Ludwig tightened his hold on the spear handle and gave a yank. It didn’t budge. 

“Where’s the water bottle?” Feliciano asked, and the splashing noises stopped. “I really need a drink!”

“I’m holding it,” Kiku replied, and there was a moment’s pause as they exchanged items. Ludwig tried to yank out the spear again, but it was lodged fast between the rock. “Feliciano, you’re all wet now. Please try not to act so rashly.”

“But I’m hot,” he shrugged in reply, “and besides, there’s no one here anyway. So relax!”

“Keep your voice down!”

Ludwig gave one last, ferocious tug on the spear. This time it dislodged -- and along with it a part of the rock that was holding it there. A bunch of pebbles came loose and splashed into the stream. And if the pair of them didn’t hear that, they certainly heard the sound of the larger part of the rock falling in. 

There was a loud gasp, and the voices stopped. Ludwig, leaving his backpack hidden in the rocks, stood up slowly. 

“... Who’s there?” Came Feliciano’s frightened voice. Ludwig remained silent, and kept close to the rocks as he crept noiselessly forwards. “I -- I warn you -- we’re armed!”

“Feliciano, be quiet…”

There was silence for a while, apart from the rush of the river. Ludwig came close to the end of the shelf of rock, but hidden behind another. Keeping his spear tight in hand, he chanced a glance around the edge. 

There the two were, frozen like deer in headlights. Feliciano was hiding behind Kiku, crouching slightly as he was quite a bit taller, hands vice-like upon his shoulders. Kiku’s face was pale and steadfast, and both of their eyes were scanning the rock, but neither saw him. It was here, Ludwig found he had to make a choice. 

He could kill them here and now, and he knew he had the strength, the power, and the means to do it. The Gamemakers clearly wanted him to do it, or else they wouldn’t have driven the two here, and perhaps the audience did too. But if he did, it would only give him a slight leg up. On the other hand, he could employ these two as allies. Granted, they wouldn’t be the best allies in the world, but nonetheless, allies. If they did become allies there was a better chance of them taking down the Careers… 

Ludwig looked at the pair of them. They were beginning to back away from the river by now, and Kiku was slowly sliding out a small dagger in his belt. They were weak. Defenceless. Harmless. He felt a stab of pity for them. That was when Ludwig made up his mind. 

“Don’t fight!” He called, as he emerged from the rock. The pair of them jumped -- and then Feliciano gave a shrill scream. 

“Don’t hurt us, please don’t hurt us, we’re harmless -- really -- and I don’t want to die!” He burst forth, stumbling backwards, but still kept a tight hold of Kiku’s shoulders. “Please -- we surrender!”

“I’m not going to hurt you!” He tried to shout, desperately over Feliciano’s noise. If he kept this up, they were going to be found. “Just listen to me!”

“I surrender, I surrender!” He continued to gabble. “Both of us do -- so long as you don’t kill us -- please!”

“I’m not going to kill you!” Ludwig bellowed. And finally, Feliciano fell silent. It was then he realised he’d been beginning to raise his spear in a very antagonistic way towards them. Ludwig dropped it to the side quickly, away from him, and held his hands up. “I want to be allies.”

“Allies?” Feliciano asked. He stopped backing away, and his grip on Kiku seemed to lessen. “Does that mean -- where you help us, and stay with us for a bit, and don’t try and kill us?”

“Well…” Ludwig said, stiffly. “Yes.”

A grin stretched out on his face. “Why didn’t you say so before? Of course we can be allies!”

Feliciano made to move past Kiku and skip towards Ludwig, but before he could, Kiku grabbed his wrist. He turned, confused. Kiku still hadn’t lowered the dagger. 

“Kiku--?”

“How do we know you want to be our allies?” He asked, in a clear, steadfast voice. “How do we know you won’t just kill us when our backs are turned?”

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now,” Ludwig told him, bluntly. As he talked, he began to slowly slide off his bag, and unzip it. Kiku didn’t seem to protest, but his eyes scanned the bag suspiciously. “Both of us need allies if we want to win. And…” Here, he tipped the contents of the bag out. “I’m willing to share all of this.”

Kiku paused a moment longer, deliberating, but evidently was won over by the bounty Ludwig had. He let go of Feliciano’s wrist, who beamed and skipped towards Ludwig. 

“You have so much stuff!” He said, happily, and grabbed his arm like they were old friends. Ludwig gave a start, but the action didn’t seem aggressive. Just… friendly.

“I suppose we have to share our stuff now -- but we didn’t get a lot,” Feliciano continued. “Kiku, show him what we have!”

Kiku sighed, but pulled out the knife and a thick pair of socks from his pockets. “It’s not much,” he explained. “But we had to get away from the Cornucopia.”

“You did the right thing,” he replied, if a little awkwardly. 

“Ooh, you have food too!” Feliciano said, enviously, as he dug through Ludwig’s belongings. He’d found the strips of dried beef. “Can we have some? We haven’t eaten since we got here, and we’re really, really hungry!”

“I think we’d better ave that,” he replied, quickly. “In case there’s an emergency in food. Have you two hunted before?”

“We tried the hunting simulator at the Training Centre!” He chirped. “... But neither of us were very good.”

Ludwig sighed. He’d have to carry this alliance, he knew. Perhaps it would be easier to kill them in their sleep. He shook his head of the thought. That was only if worse came to worst. 

“Well looks like you’ll have to learn,” he told them. “I’ve seen a few fish in the river. We can start there.”

“Yes sir!” Feliciano smiled, and gave a salute to Ludwig. And, for some reason, Ludwig didn’t know why, that almost made his face flush red. He cleared his throat.

“... I’ll get my spear,” he muttered, moving away from the two. 

New allies. He had new allies. Ludwig picked up his spear again, contemplatively. In an upbringing where he’d been training for the Hunger Games his whole life, he’d hardly ever had a friend, unless he counted his brother. Sure, he had people to train alongside of, but they’d never been on the best of terms as they were being pitted against each other for the Games. Alfred, his district partner, in particular. He had a brother, a grandfather, training instructors… but no friends. 

Ludwig shook his head. No, these people weren’t his friends. They were allies. And allies that would soon have to turn on each other at that. It was just a matter of time. 

“Ludwig! Your name was Ludwig, right?” Feliciano called, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Come on, new ally! I’m hungry, and can I have a drink of your water?...”

The rest of the afternoon was spent teaching the other two how to fish. To Ludwig, fishing was a simple task. His brother could fish, and his grandfather could fish. Really, Ludwig thought anyone could fish. Of course, that was before he met Feliciano. 

“You have to stop splashing about!” He snapped at him, for the dozenth time that morning. “You’re scaring away everything!”

“I can’t help it!” Feliciano whined back. “The sun is hot. I have to splash to keep cool!”

In Feliciano’s defence, it was really hot. The Gamemakers were really ratcheting up the temperature, so much so that Ludwig felt it necessary to take his jacket off. He was fairly sure all that snow on the top of the mountain was melting. 

“Besides, you can catch all the fish for me!” Feliciano added, kicking up some more water. “So loosen up!”

Loosen up? In the Hunger Games? Ludwig forced himself to take a deep breath, and remain patient with him. 

“Listen,” he said, in an as patient voice as he could muster. “You’re not only scaring away the fish for yourself, but for us too. So stop it.”

“Ludwig is right,” Kiku added. “You’re making it very hard.”

In an ideal situation, he would have only Kiku as an ally. But killing Feliciano would mean betraying Kiku’s trust, and he did need allies. However, Feliciano was proving to be more of a deadweight than a help, at this point. 

Ludwig sighed. He should give Feliciano at least a chance. Though that was hard to remember when he was scaring half the river away.

“Hey, when can we eat?” He then asked, turning to the two of them. “I’m really, really hungry, and I haven’t eaten since the Games started!”

“Well you’ll have to wait a bit longer,” Ludwig replied, as patiently as possible. 

“Why?” Feliciano frowned. “We have six fish!”

“Because we will need to cook them,” he said, “and doing that would mean lighting a fire. The fire will make smoke, attracting enemies -- so we can’t.”

He pouted. “Not even a very little fire?” 

“No.”

“Well,” he insisted, “what about one of those beef strips? We don’t need a fire for that.”

“Those should be only consumed on an emergency,” Ludwig replied, really beginning to get irritated now. Did this man understand nothing about survival? “We can’t have them either.”

“But this is an emergency! I’m really hungry!”

Luckily, before Ludwig could lose his temper completely, Kiku stepped in. 

“If you’re hungry, perhaps you should go gather some berries to eat before nightfall,” he said, quickly. “That way you don’t have to cook anything or consume any rations. Sound good?”

“Oh, good idea Kiku!” Feliciano replied, brightly. “... But I don’t know which ones to pick. I hardly did the edible plants at Training.”

“Ludwig can show you.”

“What?” He replied, caught off guard.

“You can show Feliciano what berries to collect,” Kiku sighed. 

“No,” he said. “I need to stay here and protect the camp.”

“I can do that,” he said, then lowered his voice. “Please. It will stop him complaining.”

It was just then Ludwig realised Kiku was getting probably just as tired of Feliciano as he was. He sighed, but nodded. 

“Very well. I’ll help. But Feliciano--” Here, he turned to him sternly. “You have to keep quiet.”

“I can do that!” He replied, eagerly. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse!”

Feliciano’s definition of ‘quiet’ wasn’t quite the same as his, Ludwig realised, as they exited away from the camp. He’d lowered his voice slightly, but still talked nonstop. Feliciano also knew nothing of stealth, constantly stamping on fallen branches and kicking up leaves. Every few minutes he had to tell him to quit fooling around. 

Even then his troubles weren’t over. When they did eventually find a bush containing berries -- Capitol-made ones, like raspberries, but yellow in colour and very sour -- Feliciano put a handful in his mouth and chewed. Then his face scrunched up.

“Ew!” He squealed. “They’re all sour!”

“You said you wanted berries,” Ludwig replied, shortly. He began to pick them off the bush and pocket them for later. 

“Not these ones,” Feliciano decided, spitting them out. “We can find another bush.”

“Another one?” He grit his teeth, but then sighed. “Feliciano, we don’t get the luxury of picking and choosing here. This isn’t the Capitol.”

“I know,” Feliciano replied, stung. “I’m not stupid. But I bet we can find another berry bush. We just have to look!” With that, he took Ludwig arm and started dragging him away.

They couldn’t find a berry bush. The best he could do was find a few mint leaves to chew on -- which Feliciano thankfully did, although rather disheartened now. At least the leaves stoppered his mouth, Ludwig thought privately to himself. This alliance was beginning to feel more and more like a mistake. Feliciano had been more of a hindrance than a help. Kiku was better -- but not by much. Neither of them would be much use against a career. 

… He could kill them in his sleep, he realised, and get a leg up. 

Feliciano, humming away to himself around his mouth of mint, was none the wiser to Ludwig’s thoughts. He could kill them in their sleep, take their dagger, and start moving again. After all, they needed him more than he needed they. He didn’t need them at all, actually. And the more he thought about it, the more of a good idea it seemed. He didn’t want his audience to think he was soft, after all, for sparing two weaklings. He didn’t want his brother or grandfather to think it either. Besides, they would have to die anyway. Better sooner, rather than later. 

He returned to the camp, and found nothing disturbed. Kiku had not seen anyone. In fact he admitted to dozing off against the rocks one time, as he hadn’t gotten any sleep that night from worry. The mechanics in Ludwig’s mind were still working. He was to slit their throats in his sleep that night and move on. 

“It’s twillight,” Kiku eventually said, as dusk began to fall. “I think it’s safe to light a fire.”

“I agree,” Ludwig said. While in the woods he also managed to gather a lot of sticks for building a fire. No help from Feliciano. “We can cook the fish.”

While Kiku set about making the fire, Ludwig began to gut and clean the six fish they’d managed to catch that day. They looked similar to a sea trout, and ought to be okay to eat. Feliciano watched the two, fiddling with the roll of twine from Ludwig’s backpack. Eventually he spoke. 

“What’s that?”

Ludwig realised he was talking to him, and looked up. “What’s what?”

“That!” Feliciano pointed to his neck. He looked down, and saw his iron cross necklace resting against his chest. Ludwig had forgotten he even had it, in all honesty. 

“Oh,” he said, in realisation. “That. It’s a family heirloom. It’s… my token.”

“Who gave it to you?” He asked, curiously.

“My grandfather.”

“Your grandfather?” Feliciano tilted his head to the side. “Not your parents?”

“My parents are dead,” he replied, shortly. “There was… an accident.”

“Oh -- I’m so sorry!” He said, quickly. “But it’s okay. My parents are dead too. And my grandfather looks after me too!”

Ludwig paused in gutting his fish, and looked up. “... Really?”

“Yeah!” He smiled. “I never really knew my parents, so I can’t really be sad about them. I have my grandfather -- and my brother, too. I have a twin brother. His name is Lovino.”

“I have a brother, but he’s older than me,” he replied. “By two years. His name is Gilbert.”

“We have so much in common!” Feliciano said, in wonder. Then he stuck his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a small, off-silver coin. “This is my token.”

“A… coin?” Ludwig peered at it, in confusion.

“Not just any coin!” He whispered, enthralled. “An olden-day coin! These are worth a lot of money! But of course, we wouldn’t ever sell it.” Feliciano put it back in his pocket and tapped it twice. “Back then, they called it a nickel.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of those.” Ludwig nodded. “You’re lucky to have it.”

“Hopefully when I die, they’ll give it back to my family,” Feliciano then said, mournfully. “They’d want to have it back, I’m sure.”

“I… I’m sorry?” He must have misheard, because Ludwig could have sworn he heard Feliciano say ‘when I die’. He couldn’t have possibly said that, could he…? “... You’ll think you’ll die?”

He nodded, solemnly. “Almost definitely.”

“... You don’t know that.”

Feliciano shrugged. “Well, I don’t have much of a chance of winning. I can’t fight. I can run fast though!”

Ludwig knew, and he knew Feliciano knew, that simply running away wasn’t good enough in the Hunger Games. In the Hunger Games, you needed to fight, to survive, to learn to think quickly and act rationally. To be able to withstand anything the Gamemakers threw at them. And in their trio, only one person matched that description. It dawned on Ludwig just as it dawned on Feliciano, and their eyes met for just a second. Then Feliciano looked away to rummage in his pocket, and bring out his coin again.

“Give me your hand,” he instructed, and Ludwig did so almost without thinking. He felt something warm and metal fall into his hand, and looked down. It was Feliciano’s coin.

“You can win!” He whispered, looking at Ludwig in earnest. “You can win for me -- and give this back to my family for me. I don’t think I’ll win. And I don’t think the Capitol give back tokens, either.”

“Feliciano, I… I can’t take your coin,” he replied, lamely. “It’s yours.”

“Well you’re my ally!” Feliciano said, brightly. “It can be both of ours! Oh -- and Kiku’s!”

“I’m sorry?” Kiku asked, looking up from the fire, which was just beginning to set alight. Ludwig had almost forgotten he was there. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Do you have a token?” He asked. “Or anything -- anything?”

Kiku shook his head, sadly. “Nothing. My family doesn’t have much.”

“Ohh…” Feliciano deflated. “Do you have a big family, then? Do you have any siblings?”

A small smile appeared on Kiku’s face. “... You could say.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

“Four!”

Ludwig looked at Feliciano, and suddenly killing him seemed a lot harder than before. Sure, he couldn’t fight, survive, or even stop talking for a few minutes. He didn’t know how to be stealthy or come up with a plan to take down a career. But… he could talk. He could cheer people up. And… there was something sad about being flung into an arena you knew you would die in. He’d never considered about that before. Ludwig looked at the coin in his hand and pocketed it. 

After all, there would be no need to kill Feliciano, when others could do it for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Okay... so... LONG ass chapter this time. I couldn't help myself. Sorry if I over-described anything, and also apologies if the next week's upload doesn't make it out on time -- I'm taking a bit of a break from writing, and this is the last of the pre-written chapters I wrote in foresight for my writing slump. School isn't quite out for the summer holidays where I live, also, so that isn't helping much. 
> 
> Any kudos, comments, or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, I'll hopefully see you in the next chapter! ... Whenever that is.


	15. Kill or be Killed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Feliciano finally learns the dangers of the arena.

Feliciano was unaware that in the past few hours, Ludwig had decided to first kill him, and then not kill him. In his eyes, he felt he could not have found a better ally. Ludwig was strong, Ludwig was smart. He was brave, bold, could take on five people in combat blindfolded with his hands behind his back. He knew loads able edible bugs and plants, and about general survival too. He was tough. He had been trained for this. That was why he’d given him his coin. 

“The fire’s started,” Ludwig said, once Kiku had managed to get a fire going. “We should be able to cook the fish now.”

Feliciano grinned, and was about to respond, when loud music began to fill the air. The three of them turned their gazes skywards, to the Capitol seal. There were a few more seconds of anthem, then the seal disappeared with the image of a girl from District 9. Then the anthem ended. They glanced at each other.

“... That’s it?” Kiku frowned, as the seal disappeared once more. “That’s all whose died?”

“Looks like it…” Feliciano shrugged uncertainty, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. 

“There should be more,” Ludwig agreed. “The careers hunt from day one.”

“Maybe -- maybe they’ve found somewhere to hide,” he suggested, “come on -- I’m hungry. Let’s cook the fish.”

There wasn’t a lot of talk as Ludwig fashioned a small spit out of a twig, and began to roast the sea trout they caught over the fire. In fact, there wasn’t any at all, as night fell. The hot day’s temperature began to plummet with the night, though luckily they had the fire to keep themselves warm. As extra warmth, Feliciano grabbed the blanket and put it around his shoulders. Then Ludwig handed him a fish on a stick.

“Here,” he said, “eat it. It’s good.”

“I’ve never had fish before…” Feliciano mused, as he took the stick. He bit into the middle part, and his eyes lit up as his mouth filled with flavour. “Oh, it’s good. You’re a good cook, Ludwig!”

“Thank you,” he replied, as he began roasting the next fish. “... Have you really never had fish before?”

Feliciano shook his head. “Never!”

“Neither have I,” Kiku added.

Ludwig looked confused for a moment. “... Why not?”

“Fish is expensive, in District 3, ‘cause we’re landlocked” he shrugged. “And I’m poor. Grandfather can barely afford to keep me and my brother in school, as well as rent. I don’t mind though!”

There was a long pause. “... Where do you live?”

“In a block of flats,” he replied, pleasantly. “I live right at the very tip-top!”

Another pause. “... And you, Kiku?”

“We have a house,” he said, quietly. “But it’s small. My brothers and I have to share beds, and we have to help out our older brother with work, as well as school.”

“... Sorry,” Ludwig said, much to the surprise of the both of them. “I… forgot District 3 was poor.”

“It’s fine!” Feliciano said. “It’s not your fault, after all. Where did you live?”

“My grandfather was a victor of a previous Hunger Games,” he replied, “so I live in Victor’s Row. But I spend most of my time at the Training Academy.”

“The Training Academy?” He echoed. Oh, right! Ludwig must have trained for the Hunger Games. He did live in District 2, after all, a career district. “That must be why you’re so smart at everything!”

Ludwig coughed into his hand. “Well… I wouldn’t say everything.”

“Well, most things,” Feliciano decided. He tore off another part of the fish with his mouth, just as the second fish was taken off the spit. Ludwig handed that one to Kiku. There were still four fish left. A real feast -- in Feliciano’s eyes, at least.

“So…” Feliciano said, after a while. “What did you do in the Training Academy?”

Ludwig shrugged. “... This, I suppose. Well -- it was more like the Training Centre back in the Capitol. But there was a holographic room we could go inside, and it artificially built up a random arena setting from a previous years. I was made to battle in that.”

“But that sounds so scary!” He squeaked. Feliciano couldn’t imagine even having to go into the arena once, let alone multiple times a week! “Weren’t you scared?”

“Not really,” he admitted, “I’ve been training for a long, long time.”

There was another pause. 

“I knew Alfred.” 

Kiku looked up. “You mean, your district partner?”

“The scary one with glasses?” Feliciano shivered. “I don’t like him very much. He scares me.”

“He’s okay, really,” Ludwig replied, honestly. “He’s a good fighter.”

“But being a good fighter isn’t the same as being a good person!” He pointed out, while Kiku nodded in agreement. 

“It’s true.”

He frowned. “Well… I suppose not. Though he did often outdo me in training.”

“Outdo you?” Feliciano asked, his eyes wide. He looked Ludwig up and down -- not in a particularly flirtatious way, just to study him. Ludwig was tall, broad shouldered, and heavily muscled. Alfred was tall too, but not as toned, and definitely not as broad in the shoulders. Plus he had glasses! He wouldn’t be able to see without them! “... I don’t think so.”

For some reason (or maybe it was just the firelight), Ludwig seemed to go a little red. “Yes, well… I didn’t let him…”

“Were you rivals?” Kiku asked, curiously. Ludwig nodded. 

“In a way, I suppose we were. I never saw him as my rival, really, though I think he saw me as mine.”

“But you weren’t even in the arena yet!” Feliciano frowned. “That’s a bit silly.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Ludwig agreed. 

There was a lull of silence once more, as the three of them busied with eating their fish. Feliciano drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders as the temperature dropped lower and lower, dropping to freezing temperatures. At one point, Ludwig looked up. 

“I expect we should all settle down for the night,” he said -- and Feliciano found he could only agree, sleepily. “Who should take first watch?”

“First watch?” He asked, confused. 

“You know,” he replied, patiently. “When one group member stays awake to keep guard.”

“Oooh…” Feliciano nodded, understanding. 

“I’ll take first,” Kiku said, sitting up a little straighter. “Ludwig, you can be second.”

“And I’ll be last,” he said. “Oh-kay! Ludwig, do you want to share the blanket with me?”

“I… I think I’ll be fine, Feliciano,” Ludwig said. Again, it was too dark to see really, but Feliciano thought he saw a tiny bit of colouring on his face. But then Ludwig stood up. “Come on. We should sleep by the rocks -- it will provide more cover.”

Feliciano didn’t really want to do anything but lie back and sleep, but he made himself sit up, and pick up his feet, while Ludwig moved camp. They took refuge between the large shelf that overhung the river, and a large, boulder-like mass of stone that provided cover for them. Feliciano lay down the blanket for comfortable bedding, then wrapped it around himself tightly. It reflected heat, and provided a little warmth. Ludwig lay down on the hard, compact earth, and moved the backpack under his head for a pillow. Kiku sat with his back against the rock, curled up with his arms around his knees, but his eyes were open. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to share the blanket?” Feliciano asked, as the temperatures dropped lower. “It’s super warm, I promise!”

“No, thank you,” Ludwig declined again. 

“Kiku?”

“No thank you, either.”

Feliciano paused for a second, but then sat up. He edged his way to Kiku (who was nearer to him), wrapping the blanket around his shoulders too. Kiku looked at him in surprise, but didn’t refuse. Then, since there wasn’t really any room for Ludwig, Feliciano unzipped his jacket and threw it over.

“There,” he whispered, “you should have my jacket, at least.” After all, it wasn’t really fair if he should have all the warmth to himself. Like Kiku, Ludwig also looked startled, but took the jacket anyway. 

“... Thank you.”

“It’s a little small for you to wear, so maybe you could use it as a sort of blanket instead,” Feliciano continued, as he wrapped the blanket back around himself. He made himself comfortable against the rock (which really, wasn’t all that comfortable), and smiled. 

“Night everyone!”

“Night.”

“Goodnight.”

Feliciano didn’t know how he found sleep that night. All he knew was that he did, and when Ludwig shook him awake to do ‘his watch’, it was far too early in the morning. With a grumble, he righted himself from where he had slid down the rock, massaging the small of his back while Ludwig settled down again. The sun hadn't risen yet. This was ridiculous, and his butt felt numb. 

“There aren’t even any tributes nearby, I bet!” Feliciano whispered, crossly to himself. All he could hear was the river, no loud, angry, shouting careers at all! He shifted, still uncomfortable, then after a moment stood up. The blanket fell away from him, leaving him exposed to the cold, so Feliciano grabbed his jacket from Ludwig and slipped it on again. Ludwig was already asleep, so it was perfectly fine. If he woke up, and he was cold, he could share the blanket with Kiku. 

Feliciano was suddenly reminded of how scary the night was, though. Granted, it hadn’t been as scary as his first night with Kiku -- where they had slept in a bush, which was all poky and prodding. It was supposed to have offered some sort of insulation and concealment, but it felt like it had done nothing. Every scutter of an animal made him jump, every snap of a twig made him whimper in fear. It felt like he was being watcehd by something sinister. Feliciano couldn’t see much through the leaves and the darkness -- but at one point he could have sworn he saw boots marching along in the darkness. Careers! 

Luckily, however, that first night had passed. He felt a lot safer when Ludwig was beside him, albeit if he was asleep. Feliciano stretched, rolling out the stiffness in his shoulders. Then his stomach rumbled. 

… He really shouldn’t break into the pack of beef strips. Ludwig had been cross enough when he had just suggested it. He also probably shouldn’t eat the fish either. But as time wore on, and the hours slowly passed, and horizon began to go grey at last, the hunger became harder and harder to ignore. 

Ludwig wouldn’t be angry if he just ate some berries, right? Feliciano stared unenthusiastically at the ones they had already collected. He didn’t like sour foods. They made his face scrunch up -- overpowering. Then Feliciano looked beyond the berries, towards the forest that began just a few metres away from the river. Surely there would be more berry bushes out there. He just had to find them. The sun was beginning to rise, too, so it was much lighter now. Feliciano looked behind himself, at the sleeping forms of Kiku and Ludwig. He should wake one of them. Though they might get angry… 

But it was so scary going out into the woods alone! Feliciano tapped his feet on the ground, trying to summon up the courage. He was in the Hunger Games! He should ‘man up’ and go gather some berries on his own! That was what they did in the Games! … If he got back fast, there wouldn’t be any need for them to worry. Maybe they would even be proud for doing such a difficult thing by himself. 

Feliciano stood up, peeking out from behind the rock at the forest. He needn’t go far. Just one berry bush. He shuffled forwards, so he was more out in the open, but he still kept one hand against the rock. He could just wait for the others… 

No. They wouldn’t be around forever. He needed to learn to do this himself. Feliciano let go of the rock, and, as quietly as he could, tiptoed into the forest. 

It was light, but it wasn’t too light yet. Large shadows were still cast upon the ground, forming strange shapes. At least the birds were beginning to wake up and tweeting their merry birdsong, and that gave him a little confidence. At first, Feliciano tried to hide behind every tree, but as he walked he found himself becoming less and less afraid. 

“This is easy,” he thought to himself, proudly. 

Feliciano found the berry bush they had before, and the mint leaves. He walked past them, confident that he could find more. After all, there were bushes everywhere. Surely one of them had some more berries! As he walked, however, it became less and less likely. And as the sun rose, Feliciano noticed another thing: storm clouds. They were beginning to spread from ahead of him, darkening the sky from its morning light. He should turn back now, before Kiku and Ludwig woke up, and before he got…

… Lost…

… Oh no. Oh no no no. Feliciano whipped his head from side to side, pivoted on the spot, but try as he might, he could not recognise where he was. No! How could he have let this happen?! He didn’t recognise any of these trees -- or any of the terrain -- or anything! Feliciano could feel panic welling up inside him. 

“Ludwig?” He called out, at first in a very small voice. “Kiku? Is… are you there?”

Silence. Well, not quite. There was a clap of oncoming thunder to answer, that made Feliciano jump with its noise. He whimpered to himself, and shouted a little louder: “Ludwig?! Kiku?! I -- I really need you now, okay?!”

Suddenly the forest felt alive with eyes, all watching him. Feliciano began to walk, slowly at first, but faster and faster the more lost he felt. None of this was familiar, none of it, oh if only he’d stayed with Ludwig and Kiku, he didn’t have to prove himself to anyone!--

A clap of thunder and the snap of a branch finally made him break into a mad, desperate run. Surely he’d be able to find something that he knew, like perhaps the mint leaves, or the odd berry bush! -- And suddenly his foot caught on something, a tree root perhaps, and Feliciano tumbled to the ground. The ground sloped alarmingly down, so he tumbled quite a way, before sliding to a halt in front of a lake. There, he finally stopped. 

It was all Feliciano could do not to burst into tears right there. The area around the lake was muddy, his clothes were now filthy, he was lost, and he was still hungry! He sat up, rubbing his head, and tried to get his bearings. 

The lake was a large one, that covered a good twenty metres in diameter. Mud encircled the lake, as well as a few bushes, though none that had any fruit, berries, or nuts on them. Trees lined around the edge of the mud, and on one side -- the side that he had just fallen down -- the ground sloped alarmingly up. It was a lucky thing he hadn’t seriously injured himself. Feliciano picked at his muddy clothes. Well, at least there was one bright side. He could wash his muddy face right now, in the river. He shuffled a little closer (dirtying his knees further), and stooped down to wash his face on the bank. He collected water in a pool inside his hands, and splashed it several times in his face. The water was cold, but refreshing. Feliciano rubbed the wisps of mud out of his hair too. It made him feel a little better. 

But halfway through washing his face, Feliciano noticed something. Something that was peeking out from one of the nearby bushes. A small, black, furry face was peeking out, with a little pink nose, and two tiny, triangular ears. An otter? No… a mink!

The mink crawled out of the bush, looking at home in the mud, and Feliciano couldn’t help but smile a little. The animal was so cute! It stretched its neck up, and cocked its head to one side, in such a human-like fashion, he almost laughed out loud. 

“You’re very cute, aren’t you?” Feliciano whispered, delighted. For a moment he forgot where he was, his hunger, and the state of himself. He even forgot the fact that he was lost. And now he looked, there were minks everywhere! They poked their heads up above the water, noses twitching, and peeked out from the bushes. He let a grin stretch out on his face, and extended a hand to the nearest mink, which had been the one he saw originally, half-hoping that it would nuzzle its head to him. And then he froze. 

The mink slowly opened its mouth wide, and suddenly it seemed less cute. Inside its mouth, appearing to grow out of its gums, were dozens of long, long, razor-sharp teeth. As the teeth grew inside of it, the mink’s eyes seemed to turn pitch black, and it made a horrible raspy, growling noise in the back of its throat. It was all Feliciano could do not to scream, as panic began to well up inside him once more, and the sky darkened further from the storm clouds. The mink were surrounding him, all growing their long, sharp, teeth! They would eat him alive! But no! He wouldn’t panic. Panic had got him into this situation last time, and if he panicked, he could potentially get himself into an even worse one. Feliciano’s mind raced: what could he do?!

… What would Ludwig do?

Ludwig was strong, and smart. Ludwig was brave. Ludwig could take out all these mink with his hands tied behind his back! Feliciano thought. Right now, he would be keeping a level head. Then he would… 

… Try and get away from the mink. But, slowly. If he moved fast, he might trigger something, and they would all rush at him. So slowly, slowly, Feliciano retracted his hand, and began to stand up. The mink slowly closed in on him, growling louder and louder, which made his heart beat fast, but surely if he kept moving slowly, and everything remained quiet, then maybe--

“Feliciano!”

… Oh no. 

He slowly turned around, in the midst of all these mink, to see Kiku, standing there, on the top of the slope of the bank, with their ‘hunting knife’ in hand He was staring at Feliciano with a mixture of disbelief and confusion on his face. Kiku didn’t appear to see the mink, as their growling ceased. Luckily, his shout hadn’t triggered them, as the mink eyed up their new assailant. 

“Where did you get to? How did you get so muddy?” He then sighed, and to Feliciano’s horror, began to walk down the bank, towards him and the mink! “Ludwig and I woke up and you had disappeared. You didn’t take anything with you. Please don’t do that again.”

Feliciano tried to shake his head frantically, and press a finger to his lips, but Kiku, trying to navigate his way down the slope, didn’t see. 

“We split up to search for you. We’re going to have to find Ludwig again,” he told him, as he finally got to the bottom of the slope. Then Kiku looked up. He saw Feliciano, wide-eyed with fear, one finger pressed to his lips. Then his eyes finally landed on the many mink around them, beginning to bear their teeth again. And that was all the trigger they needed to attack. 

It was an explosion. There was a monkey-like screech from the mink, a blur of brown, and something long and sharp dug into Feliciano’s lower back, shoulder, and one of his thighs. He could feel the teeth -- the length of his entire finger in total now -- sink down into his flesh, and screamed. Feliciano staggered forwards, trying to shake the mink off him, but more teeth penetrated into his feet and ankles, though thankfully shallower than the initial attacks had been. HIs hands jumped to his thigh, ripping out first one mink, then started to stagger away for the slope as more began to jump up and bite it him. It was only now Feliciano noticed how strong their leg muscles were. 

Another mink jumped up and made a bite for his shoulder. Thankfully Feliciano saw it just in time and lurched forwards to avoid it -- and his movement snapped him back to his senses. He couldn’t stay here, he had to make for the slope! … But now, with mink hanging off him and pain exploding in his lower back, thigh, and shoulder, (and another one ripping at his ankle and causing him to bleed), the slope suddenly seemed a lot bigger. Nonetheless, and still shrieking in pain, Feliciano forced his legs to cooperate, acting on adrenaline alone. 

He got about halfway up the slope before collapsing onto his knees, screaming in pain as another landed onto his shoulder. His hands scrabbed at the mink, ripping off first one, then another, even rolling in a vain attempt to squash them. More leapt up the slope in a blur of brown and Feliciano was forced to kick them back, hands and arms moving of their own accord to get as many mink off him as possible. He heard splashing from behind him -- splashing disproportionate to the size of the mink -- and his head turned towards the possibly hostile sound. 

It was Kiku. Kiku! Feliciano gasped, and it wasn’t because of the pain. Kiku was standing right where most of the mink were, and he was staggering yet still backwards, right into the lake. They were overpowering him, it wasn’t long before Kiku had actually fallen backwards, his hands scrabbling to get the mink off him like Feliciano was. He tried to cry out, to tell him to run, anything -- but the mink got there first. 

A blur of brown over his neck. Then there was a gasp. Then, all of a sudden, the water of the lake was being stained red. The mink had ripped his throat out. 

For the second time, Feliciano was snapped to his senses. Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled up the hill, shaking the last of the mink off him, and ran. Feliciano didn’t know whether the mink were chasing him, and he didn’t look back to check, crashing through trees and foliage, probably making more sound than he should be, but he didn’t care. The image of the mink ripping Kiku’s throat out flashed behind his mind’s eye. He brushed away the tears that were threatening to spill. Even though he didn’t know a lot about Kiku, he knew he had four siblings, siblings that would miss him so--

Tears were blurring the way ahead, and Feliciano didn’t know there was a person in front of him until he’d slammed right into them, gone sprawling on the floor. His mind reverted into panic mode, and before he knew it he was screaming. 

“Please, I surrender, I surrender!--”

“Feliciano!”

“I’ll do anything, don’t kill me!--”

“Feliciano!”

“Please, PLEASE!--”

“FELICIANO!”

The yell was enough to make him hiccough himself back into sense. Feliciano looked up, and saw Ludwig’s concerned face peering back down at him. Briefly, relief washed over him, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

“Feliciano, what is the matter?” He asked, though Feliciano could hear a hint of worry in his voice. “Why are you covered in blood? Have you been attacked?”

He opened his mouth to tell him, but then heard the sound of spinning blades behind him. Feliciano looked back over his shoulder, and over the tops of trees, could see a hovercraft come to pick up a body. The body was too far away to see properly, but when he squinted he could see a mop of black, wet hair… the image of Kiku lying with blood around his throat resurfaced to his mind again… before he knew it, Feliciano had burst into tears all over again. 

Great, gulping sobs shook his body. He heard a sigh, and a rustle, then Ludwig was crouched down next to him, looking significantly more worried, and now there was a hint of urgency in his tone now. 

“Feliciano, listen. I don’t know what’s just happened, but if you’ve been attacked by a Career, then we need to get out of here, now--”

“It wasn’t a Career!” Feliciano got out, and grabbed Ludwig’s arm, finally finding his voice. “It -- it was--”

“Yes?”

“It was mink!” He sobbed. “But they weren’t mink! They were -- they were all -- they had sharp teeth -- and Kiku, he, he…” Then, a new thought hit him, and Feliciano burst into a wave of fresh tears. “And it’s all my fault!”

If he hadn’t gone out, if he hadn’t tried to be brave, if he could have just ignored his hunger for one more hour, then Kiku might still be alive! Feliciano bent his head, shaking with tears, and making to attempt to brush them away. Vaguely, somewhere above him, he heard a sigh. 

“Feliciano…”

There was a rustle, and Ludwig drew his arm away. Feliciano didn’t know why, but that made him feel worse. 

“Listen. I know what they are, but I’ll have to explain later. If you were making as much noise as you are now, then even if you haven’t been attacked by Careers, you will be soon. This arena isn’t very large.”

He gave a gasp, and a gulp, and one last shuddering sob. Then Feliciano looked up at Ludwig, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he explained, patiently, “the Careers will have heard you, since the arena is not large, and they’ll be coming for us right now. They will find us, unless we move now.”

He stared at Ludwig. 

“Kiku is dead,” Feliciano finally brought himself to say, just in case Ludwig hadn’t noticed yet.

“Yes, I know,” he replied, “but we need to move.”

Feliciano kept staring. He couldn’t understand it at all. Kiku was dead, and Ludwig was acting like it was nothing more than an inconvenience! But before he had time to voice this thought aloud, Ludwig had stood up, and was looking out. 

“We seem to be safe for now,” he said, lowly, “but I suggest we move back to the river and get our supplies quickly. Then we can move. And remember -- keep quiet.”

He hastily stumbled to his feet, then began to follow after Ludwig. They didn’t talk at all as they headed back to the river, apart from the occasional hiccough from Feliciano. With every step, guilt hit him like a brick. Kiku is dead. Kiku is dead. Kiku is dead and it’s all my fault. 

They gathered their things by the river, Ludwig carrying most of it in his backpack, and holding his spear, while Feliciano only had his lone knife. Then the silence really did begin to get unbearable, and he spoke. 

“What -- what were those things -- those not-mink?”

Ludwig jumped, like he had forgotten Feliciano was there. There was only a slight pause, before he spoke.

“I can’t be completely sure. I didn’t see them for myself. But from the way you described them -- they were Capitol muttations.”

“Capitol muttations?” Feliciano echoed. 

“Yes,” he answered, “they’re animals that have been genetically mutated for the Hunger Games. Made in the Capitol for the Gamemakers request, I should think. They’re often made to kill better.”

Well, Feliciano thought dully, they are much better at killing now.

It was midday. The sun beat down on them from above. Distantly, Feliciano could have sworn he heard screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And yes, I know, I suck for not posting. Truthfully, I just lost inspiration for the fic, so I was going to take a break over the summer holidays, except this is a good few weeks after the holidays which I have no excuse for other than laziness. Apologies. 
> 
> Though all in all this chapter was actually okay to write, although a little long. I can finally start killing some characters and hurting people, every writer's dream :)
> 
> I can't promise I won't take any more breaks from writing, however I am going to try and actually finish this fic, however crappy it is at the end. 
> 
> Any kudos, comments, or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, hopefully I'll see you in the next chapter!!


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